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No. GXLIL 

FRENCH'S STANDARD DRAMA, 



EUSTACHE BAUDIN: 

AN ORIGINAL DRAF A, 



or THBBB ACTS. 



BY JOHN COURTNEY, 

AvUwr of " Time Tries AU," " The Soldier's Progress,' 

" The Two Polts," ^c. ^c. ^e. 

WITH CAHT OP CHARACTERS, STAGE BUSINESS, COSTUMES, 
RELATIVE POSITIONS, dtc, &a 



AS PEBPOBMED AT THE PRINCIPAL THBAThES, 



Samuel French & Son 

Pb^LISHEBS, 

i.j. i.aa Nassau Street* 



LONDOl^ 

Samuel French 

PUBLISHEK. 



BOOKS EVKRV AMATE-IR SHOUIiD HAVE. 

kUAi'EirR'S OUIDE: or. Howto Get up Home Theatricals and to Act In them, with LaM«t. By- 

L»vn, Selected Scenes, Plays and other usefulinfonuatioa for Amateur SocieUes. Price 25 ot^ 

OUIDE TO THE STAGE. 15 cents. ^ AUT OF ACTING. 15 cenU. 
Anything on this cover sent by mail on receipt of prict 



FRENCH'S STANDARD DRAMA. 



Price 15 Cents each.— Bound Volumes $L 26. 



▼OL. I. 

lion 

2 Faxiu 

I The Jj»i9y ot Ljoni 

i Blohallaa 

6 The Wife 

i The HoneyitioaD 

T The School for Sc^i'**! 

A Money 

VOL. II. 

» The Stiwnger 
(0 Grandfather Wh>Vh«ad 
U Riobard III 

13 Love's Sacrifice 
IS The Gamester 

U A Cure for the Heartaahe 

15 The Hmnohback 

IS Doi» Ceesar de Baxan 

VOL. III. 
tT Th^ Poor Gentieman 

18 Hamlet 

19 Charles II 

«) Venice Pre«er»«<l 
«1 Plzarro 

22 The Lore Chaw 

23 Othello 

il Lead me Five ShtUinjcs 

VOL. IV. 
»B Vlrijinlua 

26 Kin({ of the Commons 
2*' Londoa Assurance 

28 The Rent Day 

29 Two Gentlemen ofVe'ona 
K> The Jearoua Wlfo 
II Tne RivnU 
«2 Perfection 

VOf-- V. [Debts 
M ^ New W»y tt» Pay Old 
ti Look Before Tou Leap 
«5 King John 
•6 Nervous Man 
H7 Damon and KTlhlas 

48 Clandestli? Marriage 
«? William Tell 

M D»v after the Wedding 

VOL. VI. 
«1 Bpeed the Plough 

42 Romeo and Juliet 
■W Feud*! Ti«tta^ 

■U Charles the Twelfth 
*6 The Brld»' 
46 Tbo Folllea cf a Night 
*7 Iron Chest [Pair l,»dy 
M Faint Heart Navwr Won 

vof- m. 

^ Ro»A to Bwfa 

M>M»ci>«tb 

41 Temper 

ii Eradna 

W Bertram 

M The Dae»nA 

ft5 Unoh Ado At>9at Hathlng 

M TtM Crltti 

VO!L. VIII, 
<7 The Apostate 
W Twelfth Night 
«9 Brutna 

40 Siotpcon & Co 

41 If erahant of Venice 

«3 01<> HefuSsJcTooQ^Hearta 

43 MoantSkineeri [i-i-<;«« 
$i Three Weakf afte* Mar- 

VOL. IX. 
«5Lova 

C6 Af Ton Like It 
67 Toe Hider Brat)«er 
41) W*ru«.T 

49 Oialppui 

to Town and Oaantry 
11 JClDg Lear 
73 Blno Devil« 

VOL. X. 
78 Henry VIlI 

14 Harried aa4 Single 

75 Henry IV 

76 Paul Pry 

77 Gar Manoerlni; 

78 SwieethearU a>- Wives 
70 ^riooa FvoUy 

to 8be Scoops to Conquer 



VOL. XI. 

81 Jallos Csesar 

82 Vicar of Wakefield 

83 Leap Tear 

84 The Catspaw 

85 The Passing Cload 

86 Drunkard 

87 Rob Roy 

88 George Barnwell 

VOL. XII. 

89 Ini;omar 

90 Sketches In Iikdia 

91 Two Krien^a 

92 Jane Shore 

93 Corsican Brothers 

94 Mind your own Business 

95 Writing on tiie Wall 

96 Heir at Law 

VOL. XIII. 

97 Soldier's Daughter 

98 Douglas 

99 Marco Spada 

100 Nature s Nobleman 

101 Sardanapalus 

102 Civllixation 

103 The Robbers 

104 Katharine and Petruchio 

VOL, XIV. 

105 Game of Love 

106 Midsummer Nlghf 

107 Ernestine [Dream 

108 Rag Picker of Paris 

109 Flying Dutchman 

110 Hypocrite 

111 Thgrese 

112 Lffrour de Nesle 

VOL. XV. 

113 Ireland As It Is 

114 Sea of Ice 

115 Seven Clerks 

116 Game of Life 

117 Forty Thieves 

118 Bryan Boroihm& 

119 Romance and Reality 

120 UgoUno 

VOL. XVL 

121 The Tempest 

122 The Pilot 
133 Carpenter of Rouen 

124 King 8 Rival 

125 Little Treasure 

126 Dombey and Son 

127 Parents and Guardians 

128 Jewess 

VOL. XVII 

129 CamUle 

130 Married Life 

181 Wenlock of Wenlock 

182 Rose of Ettrickvale 

133 David Copperfield 

134 Aline, or the Rose of 

135 Pauline [Killamey 

136 Jane Eyre 
VOL. xvin. 

137 Night and Morning 

138 .£thiop 
189 Three Guardsmen 

140 Tom Cringle 

141 Henriette, the Forsaken 
143 Eustache Baudin 

143 Ernest Maltravers 

144 Bold Dragoons 

VOL. XIX. 
.145 Dred, or the Dismal 

I Swamp 

146 Last Days of Pompeii 

147 Esmeralda 

148 Peter Wilkins 

149 Ben the BoaUwain 

150 Jonathan Bradford 

151 Retribution 

153 MineraU 

VOL. XX. 
158 Prensh Spy 

154 Wept of Wish-ton Wish 

155 Evil Genius 

156 Ben Bolt 

157 Sailor of France 

158 Red Mask 

159 Life ef an Actress 

160 Wedding Day 



[Moscow 



VOL. XXI. 
161 All's Fair in Lot* 

163 Hofer 
168 Self 

164 Cinderella 

165 Phantom 
hM Franklin 

167 The Gnnmaker of 

168 The Love of a Trlnoe 

VOL. xxn. 

169 Son of the Night 

170 Rory O'More 

171 Golden Eagle 

173 Riensi 
178 Broken Sword 

174 Rip Van Winkle 

175 Isabelle 

176 Heart of Mid Lothian 
VOL. XXIIT. • 

177 Actress of Padua 

178 Floating Beacon 

179 Bride of Lamermoor 

180 Cataract of the Ganges 

181 Robber of the Rhine 
183 School of Reform 

183 Wandering Boys 

184 Mazeppa 
VOL. XXIV. 

185 Young New York 

186 The Victim* 

187 Romance after Marriage 

188 Brigand 
as Poor of New York 

190 Ambrose Gwinett 

191 Raymond and Agnes 

192 Gambler's Pate 
VOL. XXV. 

198 Father and Son 

194 Massaniello 

195 Sixteen String Jack 

196 Youthful Queen 

197 Skeleton Witness 

198 Innkeeper of Abbeville 

199 Miller and his Men 

200 Aladdin 
VOL. XXVI. 

201 Adrienne the Actress 

202 Undine 

203 Jessie Brown 

204 Asmodeus 

205 Vormons 

206 Blanche of Brandywine 

207 Viola 

208 Deseret Deserted 
VOL. X.KVII. 

209 Americans in Paris 

210 Victorine 

211 Wizard of the Wave 

212 Castle Spectre 

213 Horse-shoe Hobinson 

214 Armand, Mrs Mowatt 

215 Fashion, Mrs Mowatt 

216 GlaLie at New York 
VOL. XXVIIL 

217 Inconptant 

218 Uncle Tom's Cabin 

219 Guide to the Stage 

220 Veteran 

221 Miller of New Jersey 

222 Dark Hour before Dawn 

223 Midsum'rKights Dream 
[Laura Keene s Edition 

•224 Art and Artifice 

VOL. X.XIX 

325 Poor Young Man 

226 Ossawattomie Brown 

227 Pope of Rome 
2W Oliver Twist 

229 Pauvrette 

230 Man in the Iron Mask 

231 Knignt of Arva 
■li-2 Moll Pitcher 

VOL. XXX. I 

233 Black Eyed Susan 
•234 Satan in Paris 
235 Rosina Meadows fess 
336 West End, or Irish Heir- 

287 Six Degrees of Crime 

288 The Lady and the Devil 

289 Avenger.orMoorof Slci- 
40 Masks and Faces )ly 



(Catalogue continued on third page of cover.) 



VOL. XXXI. 
241 Merry Wives of Windsor 
343 Mary's Birthday 
343 Shandy Maguire 

244 Wild Oats 

245 Michael Erie 

246 Idiot n'itness 

247 Willow Copse 

248 People's Lawyer 

VOL. XXXII. 

249 The Boy Martyrs 

250 I.ucretia Borgia 

251 Surgeon of Paris 

252 Patrician's Daughter 

258 Shoemaker of Toulouse 

254 Momentous Question 

255 Love and Loyalty 

256 Robber's Wife 

VOL. XXXIII. 

257 Dumb Girl of Genua 
358 Wreck Ashore 

259 Clari 

260 Rural Felicity 
•261 Wallace 

262 Madelaine 

263 The Fireman 

264 Grist to the Mill 

VOL. XXXIV. 
365 Two Loves and a Life 

266 Annie Blake 

267 Steward 
'268 Captain Kyd 

•269 Nick of the Woods 

270 Marble Heart 

271 Second Love 

273 Dream at Sea 

VOL. XXXV. 
373 Breach of Promia* 

274 Review 

275 Lady of the Lake 

276 Still Water Runs Deep 

277 The Scholar 

278 Helping Hands 

279 Faust and Marguerite 

280 Last Man 

VOL. XXXVI. I 

381 Belle's Stratagem 

282 Old and Young 

283 Kaffaella 
•284 Ruth Oakley 
285 British Slave 
38G A Life's Ransom 

387 Giralda 

388 Time Tries All 
VOL. XXXVII. 

289 Ella Rosenburg 

290 Warlock of the Glen 

291 Zelina 
-292 Beatrice 

293 Neighbor Jackwoo<: 

294 Wonder 
'295 Robert Emmet 
i96 Green Bushes 

VO ,. XXXVIII. 

297 Flowers of the Fore 1 

298 A Bachelor of Arts 

299 The Midnight Banquet 

300 Husband of an Hour 

301 Love's Labor Lost 

302 Naiad Queen 

303 Caprice 

304 Cradle of Liberty 
VOL. XXXIX. 

305 The Lost Ship 

306 Country Squire 

307 Fraud and its Victims 

308 Putnam 

309 King and Deserter 

310 La Fiammina 

311 A Hard Sti-uggle 
313 Gwinnette Vanghaa 

VOL. XL. 

313 The Love Knot [ Jndf* I 

314 Lavater, or Not a Bs-" 
.'15 The Noble Heart 

316 Coriolanus 

317 The Winter's Tale 

318 Eveleen Wilson 

319 Ivanhoe 
Jonathan in Bnglanff 



1 



FRENCH'S STANDARD DRAMA, 

E])z ^ctfiifl IS'Qition. 
, No. CXLII. 



EUSTACHE BAUDIN; 

AN OKIGINAL DRAMA, 



IN THREE ACTS. 



BY JOHN COURTNEr, 

AvMior of " Time Tries All,'' " The Soldier's Progress, 
" The Two Polts," ^c. S^-c. ^c. 



TO WHICH ARE ADDED 

A description of the Costume— Cast of the Characters— Entrances and Exit*- 

Relative Positions of the Performers on the Stage, and the whole of the 

Stage Business. 



AS PERFORMED AT THE 

PRINCIPAL LONDON AND AMERICAN THEATRES. 



NEW YORK: 
SAMUEL FRENCH, 

122 Nassau Street. (Up Stairs. "I 







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ilCostume. — [Eustache Baudin.] 

ACT I.— Period 1798. 

EUSTACHE BAUDIN— Loose blouse [blue] with striped shirt, loose 

collar and neck-tie, dark French trousers, and gaiters, peaked 

French cap. 
ALPHONSE LAMBERTI— Coat [ciaret color] of the period, embroi- 
dered waistcoat, Avhit€ neckerchief, light pantaloons, French top 

boots, rather conical hat, and band. 
DELBOIS — French long frock, large French trousers, shoes, and 

gaiters. 
MONSIEUR MANCLERjC— Plain black suit of the period. 
MONSIEUR PONCELET— Slate or brown suit ditto. 
SERGEANT POMPONNEAU— Military suit of the time ; blue coat 

and red trousers. 
MARCEL POULET — Village suit; large brown breeches, flowered 

waistcoat, and white coat. 
GREGORY and PIERRE— Village dresses. 
COUNTESS D'ALBERTE— Rich travelling dress of puce velvet, hat 

and feathers. 
LOUISE— Plain dark boddice, red skirt. 
MANOU — Blue boddice, orange skirt, French handkerchief on hcdd. 

ACT II.— Period 1804. 

EUSTACHE BAUDIN— Dark purple velvet courier's jacket, red waist- 
coat [both trimmed with gold lace,] buckskin pantaloons, high 
boots, conical hat and band, black neck- tie. 

ALPHONSE LAMBERTI— Green coat, white waistcoat, lower gar- 
ments the same as First Act. 

MONSIEUR PONCELET— Darker suit. 

DELBOIS — Ragged trousers, old shoes, dirty waistcoat, coat long 
and much worn, old cap with large^^eak. 

MARCEL POULET — Red plush breeches, silk stockings, shoes and 
buckles, large livery waistcoat, ditto coat with long tails. 

DARVILLE — Plain black suit of the period. 

SERGEANT POMPONNEAU— Smart livery coat, breeches, top boots. 

ADRIAN — Livery. 

CODNTESS D'ALBERTE— Rich orange dress of the period. 

LOUISE — Black velvet, handsomely-trimmed head-cap, of beads. 

LOUISE— Blue satin. 

MANOU— Blue skirt, dark boddice. 

ACT III— Period 1811. 
DUKE DE BRISSAC— Rich plum color suit of the date. 
CAPTAIN HENRY BRISSAC— Officer's uniform— blue and red. 
ALPHONSE LAMBERTI— Dark blue coat, white waistcoat, dark 

pantaloons, Hessian boots. 
DELBOIS — A change entire — more in proverty. 
EARCEL POULET — Brown coat, character waistcoat, blue breech^.s. 
MONSIEUR BONCOUR— Black suit. 
MONSIEUR PONCELET— Plain suit. 
COUNTESS D'ALBERTE— White satin stomacher, &c. 
MADAME LOUISE— Grey rich silk, with head dress. 
MANOU POULET— Brown skirt, black boddice. 



EU ST ACHE BAUD IN. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I. — The Wine House of Eustache Baudin in the village of 
Bonville, near the Southern Frontier — there is, r. a coaking stove 
iipon which is 2>laced an iron heating ; lines on which things are 
hanging as ready for the iron ; a table, behind which INIanou is 
er/wloyed ironing ; there are also tables and chairs ranged at the 
otWer side for drinking ; door, r. ; a small stair going up to room, 
L. — the stage is open at back, and through the trellis-work and the 
Vine trailing is seen distance picturesque from hilly to mountain- 
ecus ; a road also appears to descend to all, by which all pass who 
leave on the l. ; another road continued from the descent rises, r. — 
Music. — Drum or bugle heard as curtain rises. 

3Ianou. There T declare the morning parade is over, and I shall 
have my dear Sergeant Pomponneau here before I get my work 
done. [Bustles and takes another iron. Soldiers are seen to cross at 
hack from rise to descent.^ There are some of his men that he com- 
mands. Dear me, if I should become his wife and he become a gene- 
ral, why I should be Madame General Pomponneau — a little different 
that would sound to Madame Pullet, for that would be my name if I 
married Marcel ; before Sergeant Pomponneau came here I thought I 
loved Marcel, but Pomponneau is a military man — a hero — a warrior: 
Marcel a mere egg merchant ; the one smart, elegant, and handsome ; 
the other lumpy and loutish ; Marcel is constantly teazing, but I must 
really dismiss him. 

Enter Marcel Couchon, with basket on his head, from l. u. e. 

Marcel. Eggs, eggs — hen eggs — duck eggs — goose eggs — \Enter- 
ing.] Here I am [puts his eggs off his head] just dropped in, Manou, 
to see how my little dove gets on. 

Manou. Then you can drop out as soon as you please, for I am very 
busy and I don't want to be disturbed. [Feeling the heat of the iron 
and beginning to use it.] 

Marcel. Well, but I've got something to talk to you about. [UncoU" 
sciously placing both hands upon the table as in argument.] You 
see [Manou runs her iron along ivhich reaches his hands. 



6 EUSTACHE BAUD1». 

Manon. Take care. 

Marcel Oh ! oh ! \Siamps, 4fc. 

3Ianou. Couldn't you see. 

Marcel. I was telling you to see. 

Manou. And I told you to take care. 

Marcel [In fury] But I know what you are thinking of— that ser- 
geant, it's all through him ! 

Manou. It's all through your putting your hands in my way. 

Marcel You love that fellow. 

Manou. [Folding things.] I'm afraid I do ! 

Marcel. And pray what's to become of me 1 

Manou. I really don't know. 

Marcel. And perhaps you really don't care. 

Manou. Exactly — and to tell you the truth, I had just before you 
" popped in" determined to give you your dismissal, and I therefore 
dismiss you at once. 

Marcd. Dismiss me — what, for ever ? 

Manou. For ever ! 

Enter Sergeant PoMPONNEAcr//'o?n r. u. e. * 

Serg. F. Light of my glory — star of my bravery — object of my bat- 
tle-cry — my dearest Manou ! 

Manou. *My Pomponneau ! 

Serg. P. Mine for ever. 

Manou. Thine for ever. [They embrace. 

Marcel. Ah ! [Staggers and falls on his egg basket.] Tm smashed ! 

Serg. F. And so are your eggs, my fine fellow. 

Manou. Ha ! ha ! ha I 

3Iarcel Ruined in business as well as love. 

Serg. F. 'Pon my life I feel for you, give me your hand. 

Marcel. Ha ! stand off ! [Avoiding him and getting up] you military 
monster, I shall hear of your being shot yet. 

Serg. P. Ha ! ha ! ha ! my dear fellow, 'tis what we soldiers live for. 

Manou. Live to be shot 1 — oh, how shocking to be sure. 

Serg F. My love, 'tis the soldier's duty to be foremost in the attack, 
and to die bravely — his greatest glory. 

Manou. And what is to become of his wife when he's gone 1 

Serg. F. He bequeaths her to his country's protection. 

Marcel. Rags and beggary. 

3Ianou. Oh dear ! [Staggering. 

Marcel. You see what you've got to expect, but don't come to me 
when 3'ou're a widow. [Call of the hugle heard.] There you are called, 
Mr. Sergeant Pomponneau. 

Enter Captain Lahaire, tip rise, with Soldiers — sees Pomponneau. 

Capt. L. Sergeant ! 

Serg. P. Yes, captain. [Saluting. 

Capt. L. There's no time for the wine house — the route has come 
for Tours, we march there to day — come. 
Serg. P. I'm ready, Captain — the devil take it. [Aside. 



SUSTACIIE i AUDIX. 7 

Marcel. Ha, ha, ha ! " mine for ever — mine for ever." [Imitates. 

Manou. [Crying.] [Oh— oh — oh dear — you are not going to leave 
me'? 

Capt. L. AVhat's the matter, my girl ] [Crosses to c. 

Manou. No — no — nothing, sir ! [Sobbing. 

Marcel. The matter's this — slie has been transplanting her affections 
from my eggs to his epaulettes, and a good thing she has made of it. 

Capt. L. Oh, indeed — well, she is certainly a pretty girl ! 

Manou. [Bobs a cuHsey.] Thank you, sir. 

Marcel. If she hadn't been handsome, do you think I should have 
condescended to love her'? 

Capt. L. 'Tis said extremes meet — and I have frequently seen hand- 
some wives with the most ordinary of husbands. Fall in, Sergeant, 
In the meantime, my girl, I'd advise you to fall back upon your for- 
mer love. Adieu ! [Lifts his cap. 

Serg. P. Adieu, dear, for the present — I'll see you before we march. 
Music — they march off. she sits and iveeps, r. 

Marcel. [Struts.] Eggs are down certainly — but I fancy I am get- 
ting up in market. 

Manou. [Looking the way Sergeant Pompoxxeau went J He is 
gone ! 

Marcel. Yes — why don't you go after him '? 

Manou. [Glancing archly.] What, after a soldier 1 No, Marcel — a 
joke is very well in its way, and by pretending to love the Sergeant 
I have found out how truly you love me. [ Goes to Marcel. 

Marcel. Oh, you have, chl and I have found out by the same joke 
how little you care for me. 

Manou. Now, Marcel, if you talk in that manner, you'll break my 
heart. 

Marcel. You don't break mine, though you've broken my eggs. 
[Taking uj)his basket.] Here's a squash ! good bye ! 

Manou. Marcel — Marcel — don't be a fool ! 

Marcel. I won't! 

3Ianou. Hear me — stay ! 

Marcel. Go to the no, I won't send j''ou so far as that — go to 

your Sergeant ! Eggs ! eggs ! broken eggs ! damaged eggs ! 

Exit, c. and l. 

Manou. Ill punish you for this ; we have quarrelled before now, 
and I have had you at my feet in an hour. A pretty thing indeed, 
when a giri can't do as she likes with her lovers ! [Bell without.] 
Bless me, how the time slips to be sure; there are the vine dressers 
coming to refresh — I must bustle. 

Music — As she busies herself preparing — Vixe-Dressers are seen to 
wind up. 
CHORUS. 
Merry month of flowery May, 
Summer's herald 'tis to-day, 
Giving hope of harvest bright, 
Slakes our thirst with heart so light. 



8 EDSTACHE BAUDIK. 

Wine, come bring us wine . 
Wine — wine — come bring us wine. 

[Manou serves wine. 

Enter Poxceiet, c. from r. 

Omnes. Health to our new master ! 

Pon. Thanks, my friends ; I have been but a short time proprietof 
here, but I feel certain from the ready hands of the men and the pretty 
smiling faces of the women that I shall live happily amongst you. 

Omnes. Long live our worthy master ! 

Gregory. Now we have little time to lose, our dial is the sun and 
he is never idle ; we'll pay for our draught. 

Pon. Here, my good girl— let this suffice ; [ Gives money.] and now, 
friends, to work. 

Omnes. Long live our worthy master ! Hurrah ! hurrah ! 

^5 they exit, r. u. e., Manou offers change. 

Pon. Keep the rest towards getting you a husband. 

Manou. Thank you sir. 

Pon. You are not the mistress here 1 

Manou. Oh no, sir — my mistress is busy up-stairs. 

Pon. And her husband 1 

Manou. He went with some travellers to the next town very early 
this morning — their horse fell lame and he put his own to the chaise. 
Here comes my mistress. 

Louise Baudix appears coming from door l. — she descend the stairs 
and arrives on stage. 

Louise. Your most obedient, monsieur. 

Pon. Madam, yours. 

[Louise has a cloth on her arm as she begins to lay table. 

Manou. [Placing chair.] This gentleman, madam, is the new pro- 
prietor of tlie farm. 

Louise. Oh, indeed ! — most welcome, sir, to our humble home — we 
are not very elegant. 

Pon. It is elegant in its neatness, madam ; and speaks the good 
care of the housewife. 

Louise. [Curtseys.] Sir, comfort may be achieved without profu- 
sion. I hope monsieur, you will take some refreshment — my husband 
would be angry, I am sure, did I neglect his good neighbor in his ab- 
sence. 

Pon. [Crosses to l. and, sits.] I'll not refuse, ma'am, since you so 
kindly invite. [She jJlaces wine before him which he takes.] I should 
be sorry to be the cause of so good a wife, as I am sure a-ou are, en- 
countering the anger of her husband. 

Louise. Oh, sir, I wronged him when I spoke of anger, for his anger 
I never experienced ; he is too kind, and whatever my fault, a look or 
glance of disa})pointment from him is my only upbraiding 

Pon. Excellent ! happily indeed must such a couple live. 

Louise. It is such happiness as poets paint — as few I fear in this every 



EUSTACHE BAUDIK. 9 

4ay ivorld enjoy ; we have no difference of heart, mind thought, or 
will. 

Pon. His name is [Distant horse hells heard. 

Louise. Eustache Baudin. 

Pon. Here's long life and health to Eustache Baudin ! 

Music. — ^/iifer Eustache, running, dressed in half -postilion fashion , 
skin waistcoat, ^c, c. from l. 

Eus. Louise ! Louise ! Oh, here you are, and here am I with such an 
appetite. Give me a kiss, and then [About to kiss her.] give me 

Louise. Eustache ! 

Eus. Eh ! [She points.] Oh— hem— you'll excuse us, sir, won't you 1 

Pon. Of course ! 

Eus. There, [Snatches a kiss.] you see, sir, though married nearly 
five years, we are still lovers. 

Pon. Ha ! ha ! ha ! I hope you may continue so ! 

Eus. I hope we may, don't you love— eh 1 [Playfully. 

Louise. Eustache, don't be silly ; here is your breakfast all ready? 
[Places things, takes coffee from stove, ^c. 

Eus. And I am ready for breakfast— [T/irows his hat off, sits down 
and prepares.] A ride of fifteen miles helps the appetite, does it not 
sir 1 

Pon. Yes, indeed ! 

Louise. This gentleman is the proprietor of the farm, Eustache. 

Eus. Sir, your very obedient— glad to see you— proud to see you— 
and what's more, hope we shall see you very often. [During this, he 
he is sopping his bread in the coffee and eating very heartily ; little 
Louise runs in and clings to his knee.] What my little toddlekins— 
jump up ! [Tosses her upon his knee and kisses her. 

Pon. Your daughter ? 

Eus. So I am told— I don't doubt the information— she is the pret- 
tiest and cleverest child in the world, [Exhibits Louise on his knee.] 
and I verily believe, peaceable subject as I am, if anj man were to 
contradict my assertion I should challenge him. Have' a bit of sugar ! 

[Gives LovisB some sugar. 

Louise. Come Avith me, Manou. You will excuse me, sir, my hus- 
band will wait upon ycu. [Poncelet bows. 
Eus. Oh, yes, 1 11 attend upon the gentleman. [They exit, r. 
By-the-bye, sir, will you partake ?— the fare is poor, but the welcome 
is rich. 

Pon. I thank you, I have had my morning's meal long since. Ex- 
cuse me, but you seem most happy in your choice of a wife. 

Eus. Choice ! she was heaven's gift, she's the very core of my heart 
sir. . J f 

Pon. She has an air superior 

Eus. To me 7 ha ! ha ! yes, I know what you would say. 

Pon. Nay, I would not offend so greatly. 

Eus. You would not offend me at all, 1 know it— I am proud of it, 
3nd [Sighs.] yet it makes me sometimes uneasy, for should auf^htoc^ 
cur to deprive me of her ° 



10 EtrSTACnE BAUDIM. 

Fon. n.we you, then, fear 1 

Sus. No loar of her, but a dreamy foreboding- -you are our neigh. 
bor and L'hfill learn our little history. I am not a native of this village, 
but of another province. When about six years old, one night as I 
rocked my infant sister to sleep, a stranger entered our cottage — he 
held a child in his arms wrapped in a mantle, whose mother he said 
had been thrown from her carriage on the high road and he feared 
was much icjured — he left the child and departed — my father came 
from his labor and instantly hastened to assist the travelers, but he 
returned alone, having found no sign of carriage or of accident, and 
iipon the nej.t day all that we knew of the matter was that we where 
one more in family. 

Pon. Strange, indeed, and did you never learn any tidings'? 
^Eas. None from that hour to this. 

Pon. No sign or proof % 

Pus. One — that want had not caused this cruel desertion, for loose- 
ly stitched in the mantle that covered the child, the next day was 
found a necklace, but with neither initials nor crest — my father made 
inquiry of jewellers in the next town in vain — the necklace was sa- 
credly kept— months, years passed — my sister having died of fever, 
the orphan became so woven roimd our hearts that I feared each 
knock — each strange approacli — lest claim had come to snatch from 
me my second sister. 

Pon. Your fears were evidence of a kindly heart. 

Pus. I had scarcely passed my fifteenth year when a heavy con- 
scription tore me away — my term of service expired, I flew home — 
for the means of life my mother had removed to this village; Avhile 
the child I had left I found almost a woman, beautiful and good, her 
industry alone the support, hope, and pride of my mother — need I 
ispeak then, of my heart's devotion, 

Pon. You loved her then 1 

Pus. No I didn't. [Comically. 

Pon. No! 

Pus. I reverenced — but looking back upon her superiority, I dared 
not love 

Pon. But you married her 1 

Pus. That's true, or we couldn't — that is, we shouldn't — have been 
■blessed with this little pops. My mother was taken sick, and upon 
her death-bed revealed for the first time to Louise her strange history, 
gave the necklace to her hand, and in prayer fully begged me to be her 
protector-^friend — brother — she breathed her last sigh in our arms, 
and dying left us orphaned and alone. 

Pon. Happy must she have died, for those who succour and cherish 
the rejected and fatherless must have blissful hopes in their life's last 
struggle. 

Pus. Louise and I loved as "brother and sister ; six months passed, 
and whispers met my ears— for magpies will chatter— I felt the same 
home was incompatible with her good name, but when we talked of 
parting 

Fon. You found you loved t 



EUSTaCHE BAUDIK. 11 

Eus. [Rises.] You are right, neighbor, and we got married too— 
ha, ha, ha ! This wine house being for sale, Louise insisted that I 
should dispose of the necklace, and purchase it ; and here we are — 
the sun never rising upon a happier couple, and its going down never 
blessing more joyous hearts. [Lifts up Child and kisses it.] Now, 
sir, you have my story ; and somehow I couldn't help telling it you, 
from the interest you seemed to take in the light of my home— my 
darling Louise. Your health, sir. 

Poll. Yours my good friend, and may no days blight ever come to 
you. [Music — noise of murmurs. 

Eus. What's that 1 [Murmurs louder — some of the Vine Dressers 
run up rise from road below.] Yonder people ascend the hill in haste. 
Look — a carriage — the postilion loses all control — the horses j^lunge 
and rear — if they reacli the pine dell it is death to those within. Your 
people will arrive too late — across the brook is the only way. 

[Rushes off and is seen to make a hap below. 

Pon. Run, dear to your mother. [Places Child* by stairs, who runs 
lip— then looks.] The hors^es disa|>pear behind the trees, in the most 
dangerous angle of the road — I fear to know the worst, yet cannot 
resist the strong temptation. [Exit, r. 

Music. — Enter Lamberti and Delbois, c.from l. 

Lam. [In cloak.] Phooh ! in this house we may refresh and make 
inquiry. 

Del. Let's refresh first and inquire afterwards. 

Lam. Ever in haste for refreshment. 

Del. I can't fast as you can— you are always thinking, it's a thing 
I never was famous at, and never could live upon. 

Jjam. Strange I could not trace the spot, yet the hut we found in 
ruins must have been the house, and the old woodman of whom we 
inquired told us those who inhabited it had left for this village. 

Del. Well ; come let's have something to eat. 

La'un. I see no one. 

Del. Well then, we must find them ; here has been something to eat 
and some one with an appetite. [Looking on table.] Hoa! within or 
■without — up-stairs or down-stairs — above or below ! 

Enter Manou. 

Manou. I thought master was here ; did you call, sir ! 

Del. I fancy I did. 

Lam. Some wine, my girl ; [Throwing his cloak upon chair,] and 
what have you got to eat 1 

Manou. The wine I can furnish you, sir, but I am afraid with very 
little to eat. 

Del. Whatl 

Manou. This is a wine house only ; the inn is farther up the road, 

Del. How far 1 

Manou. About five miles. 

Del. [Aside.] Oh. lord, my stou&ch ! 



if2 EUSTACUE BAUDIF. 

Lam. Let's have some wine. 
Manoii. Yes, sir ; there it is, sir. 

Del. [Li passion.] A village without an inn— you ought to be swal* 
lowed up by an earthquake I 
Manoii. [Alarmed.'^ Lord, Monsieur ! 

Enter Louise down stairs. 

Louise. What is the matter, Manou 1 

Manou. Only a gentleman wants to swallow us up. 

Lam. Excuse my friend, madame — he is a gentleman with an appe- 
tite, that's all and has learnt from your servant that this is not an inn. 

Louise. It is not, sir — nor does our village boast of one : j'et what, 
we have prepared we will with pleasure place before you ; here is 
bread, a ham bone, and I'll see if I cannot find you another snack or 
two. Manou, get the wine. • [Exit. 

Bel. Yes, here's the bone — but where's the ham ? [Cuts and eats.] 
I hate picking bones ! [Lamberti walks about ] What's the matter 1 

Lam. The matter — how know I but the Countess may not be at our 
very heels 1 [Sits, r. c. 

Lei. AVhat then ? 

Lam. Everything — for when she saw the necklace exhibited in the 
shop at Tours, she recognised it at once as the one entrusted to my 
father to bear the expenses of her child's protection, at the time when 
she feared her parents might discover ths secret of her marriage with 
my uncle. 

Del. And what did your father do with the child 1 [Eating. 

Lam. Assumed to have placed it with a motherly Avoman, till her 
friends were reconciled, and she could own her marriage. 

Del. And were her friends reconciled 1 

Lam. Yes, for she shortly inherited a title and fortune on her mo- 
ther's side, and her husband the property of a rich uncle, who cut my 
father off for his gaming and extravagance, leaving him solely de- 
pendant on his brother's bounty and the hope of becoming his heir. 

L>el. His heir ! oh, then they never saw their child again, of course '? 

Lam. Never, he took them to the cottage where he said he had left 
her — a well-paid couple informed them that the late inhabitants had 
gone, bearing the child with them to America. 

Del. Capital, and where was their .child '? 

Lam. Many leagues off— according to this map of ray father's — the 
hut we visited yesterday. 

Del. But what do you want to find the girl for 1 

Lam. To marry her, and so succeed to all the Countess' wealth — 
my father died a beggar, and 'tis my only hope, my only chance of 
fortune. 

Del. In the execution of which project I am to assist you — that be- 
ing my only chance of fortune. 

Lam. Exactly ! [Music. — a murmur, and some appear as looking on 
something approaching.] Wliat's that ? [Goes to opening and looks 
off.] Ila ! am I deceived— no, it is the Countess : a party of country 
people bear hor hither, she apf>ears dying, if she is brought here and 
sees me, I am perhaps lost— this way. [Taking cloak. 



ECSTACUE BAUDIN. 18 

Del. But I haven't half done. 

iMm. Come, I say. [Drag-y him. 

Del. What, with my empty stomach'? 

Lam. Would you ruin all ] 

{Draws him off l. d., Louise appears with tray. 
Louise. I bog your pardon — gentleman, gone ! [Sees people enter < 
ing.] Heavens, what is this % 

Music. — EusTACHE brings on the Countess D'Alberte fainting, 
with Poncelet and others following. 

Eus. A chair, Louise, prepare a bed, this lady has been thrown 
from her carriage and I fear much injured. 

Louise. The bed is ready, Eustache — poor lady. 

Eus, Do you attend to the lady ; I'll mount the horse and ride to 
Monsieur Manclerc; do you, my friends, run and assist the postilion 
in extricating the horses ; I'll not be long. 

All Exeunt except Countess, Poncelet, and Louise. 

Pon. [A movement.] She seems to recover slightly. 
[A little windoiv opens at side, l., and Lamberti is seen listetiing. 

Coun. [Slowly.] Where— where— where am II and where have I 
been borne 1 

Louise. You are in safety, lady, be not alarmed. 

Coun. [Still reviving and looking aroimd.] 'Tis then no dream. 

Louise. No, lady ! be composed, collect yourself, you are better now. 

Coun. Yes ! I remember that fearful abyss down which I seemed 
to fall. 

Pon. From which you have been preserved by this good woman's 
husband, 

Louise. Who now rides for medical aid, 

Cowi. I need not that ; a little rest. 

Enter Manou and Little Louise. 

Louise. This way, [To Manou.] Assist me to bear this lady to our 
Lest bed room. 

Coun. This is kind. 

Louise. Our best assistance be assured, lady is yowr^ [Music—as 
she is raised by Poncelet and taken by Louise and Mawou, the child 
stands before them looking up inquiringly, the Countess utters a cry 
and faints. 

Pon. Heavens ! 

Louise. Lady ! 

Pon. It was at the sight of your child, 

Louise. Pray assist us, sir, to bear her to her room. 

Coun. No, no ! wliere is the mother of that child I saw but now 1 

Louise. Here, lady. 

Coun. I would speak with you alone — alone, 

Pon. I will retire and watch your husband's coming. Exit, c. 

Louise. Manou, you av ill await us in yonder room — make all ready, 

Manou. Yes, madame. How very odd. [Aside. Exit, stairs, l. 



14 EUSTACHE BAITDIV. 

Court. Your child 1 

Louise. Here ! 

Court. Yes, yes ; in every feature. [Caresses child, and intensely. 
Dear, dear ; image of my heart. 

Louise. Wliat mean you, lady 1 [ With an anxious look. 

Coun. Your name 1 

Ljouise. Louise Baudin ! 

Coun. Your family. 

Louise. Why ask you 1 

Coun. As you love that cliild, tell me ! 

Louise. Alas, I know it not. 

Coun. Birth-place 7 

Louise. I am ignorant. 

Coun. Age ] 

Louise. Ahout twenty two. 

Coun. [Taking out necklace.] Know you this necklace *? 

Louise. Yes, yes — 'twas sewn in the mantle in which I was wrap- 
ped when given to my foster parents' care. 

Coun. I am thy parent — thou art my child ! 

Louise. You my mother 1 I — I [Embrace. 

Coun. My poor dear — long sought child ! 

Louise. Am I so blessed as to embrace that bosom that ^ave life to 
me 7 

Coun. It is your own resting place, and will be your refuge ever ; 
but tell me, when last saw you this 1 [Holding necklace. 

Louise. When it was taken to be sold in the neighbonng town, after 
the birth of our little one, to purchase this small home, the better to 
support existence — my husband sold it. 

Coun. Whose parents, for the supposed value of this bauble, bore 
you from the spot where you had been entrusted to their care, and 
that for years has severed you from your family 1 

Louise. Then I am not your child ; they who fostered and protected 
me were incapable of such an act — nor would my husband, their son, 
have wedded me with such a guilty knowledge. 

Coun. He is poor, and of mean birth. 

Louise. He is my husband, and if poor in blood is rich in honesty. 

Coun. You must quit him ! 

Louise. Quit him 1 Never — never ! 

Coun. Have you no pride 1 

Louise. Yes — the pride of honor, and the pride of love. 

Court. Your marriage can be cancelled — must be ; it was a fraud 
upon your unsuspecting girlhood, and the law will annul it. 

Jyovise. The law annul it ! [Aside.] Can this be 1 

Enter Ectstache and Monsieur Manclerc, l. 

Eus. This way, doctor, [Sees Countess.] What recovered — won- 
derful ! I see you ladies don't like doctors, my wife don't, do you, love 1 

Coun. [Aside^] His love ! [Louise and Child group. 

Eus. Lady I congratulate you, for when I extricated you from your 
carriage I realljr thought you were dead, but thank heaven, I sec you 



EUSTACHE BAUniN. 16 

alive tnd well. Doctor, I have troubled yo'? for nothing it appears. 
Again, lad}^ I joy to see you so well. 

Coun. I thank you for your good wishes. [ With pride. 

Eus. [Looks.] Very cool ! But she is a countess I hear ! and I sup- 
pose a countess can't feel like common people, they must always be 
high backed ! Thank heaven, I am not a countess. 

Man. How do you feel, madame 1 our good Eustache was in great 
anxiety about you ! 

Coun. I was alarmed, I tha ik you. Have you a carriage here, sir 1 

[To Doctor. 

Man. I have, madame. 

Coun. I would thank you for an asylum till mine is repaired, or I 
can send to the next town 1 

Man. If 'tis your wish — certainly ! 

Eus. But you'll surely, lady, take refreshment 1 a glass of wino 
and [About to help her. 

Coun. I thank you, do not trouble. [HtV/i cool pride.] I will, if you 
please, depart with you, monsieur ! [To Manclerc] Here is for the 
trouble I have caused you. [Giving purse. 

Eus. Why, look you, lady. I saw your carriage and frightened 
horses on yonder point, Avhen, but heaven's interposition could have 
saved you ; had you been the meanest creature upon earth in such 
peril, I should as eagerly and as willingly have hastened to your aid. 
Reward entered not my mind, but manhood and its duty ! If heaven 
gave me the means to save a fellow creature in such peril, that's a 
greater reward than gold could be ! 

Coun. Your pride refuses my remuneration 1 

Eus. [Crosses to -R.] My heart and honor, madame ! [With pride.] 
not my pride. [Countess offers purse to Louise. 

Louise. [ With great reverence.] I never do that which would wound 
my husband, madame. 

Coun. I must not be baulked thus. [With affection.] My sweet one, 
[Offering it to Child,] here is a plaything ! [Eustache steps between. 

Ens. [After pause.] I hope lady, you would not hurt the father, 
through liis simple and imconscious child. 

Coun. [As losing recollection.] Your child ! [In some contempt. 

Eus. Yes, my child, lady, that is Louise's child and mine. She is 
not yours, is she 1 [Louise is seen to weep, the Countess kneels and 
kisses the Child rapturously. 

Coun. [To Child,] May heaven bless you — come ! [To Manclerc. 

Eus. [Won with her expression of tenderness.] Madame, for your 

blessing on my infant may [He is about to express his gratitude 

and approaches — she with returning pride rejects him. 

Coun. Adieu! 
Music. — With a look upon Louise and Child, s7ic exits with Manclerc, 

Louise sinks in a chair, as Eustace walks up and looks after the 

Countess with his hand upon the Child's head. 

Louise What am I to do 1 how act '^ I dare not tell him, it would 
break his heart. [Aside. 



16 KCSTAcnE BAUDIH. 

Eus. Slie's off, and joy go with her — these arc j-our high born ! [To 
Child.] I would not have your mother a lady with such a heart as 
that. 

Louise. She caressed our child, Eustache ! 

Eus. Yes, but she turned up her nose at us, that is to say at nie. 
I say if that's a specimen, T wouldn't have my child's mother a lady, 
that is — I beg your pardon, Louise, you are a lady, for you are good 
and grateful and, would be rich no doubt, if you could find your riches, 
and had your rights. 

Louise. And 'tis something to have our children protected from the 
chance of want. 

Eus. Want — that for want ! [Snaps his fingers andputs child io l.] 
while I have these strong arms and this willing heart, with health to 
aid them ! 

Louise. But the willing arm and heart are often paralysed by acci- 
dent or sickness. [ With a hurst of feeling.] Oh, Eustache, should wo 
lose you ! 

Eus. Lose me 7 

Jjouise. Life is uncertain to all. 

Eus. True ! [As if struck] You, this child, would have then no 
protector. 

Louise. Unless chance should guide those who lost me, where they 
might discover and claim me. 

Eus. Well but they haven't claimed you yet, and they would'nthave 
you if they did, while I lived, I can tell them — you are my wife ! 

Louise. Yes, yes, and a happy one. 

[Thi'ows her arms round his neck. 

Eus. Well then, what's all this trouble about ; this is our child 
whom we both love, is it not '? 

Louise. Yes, devotedly and tenderly. 

Eus. Well then, here we are, three happy birds in one little wood- 
nest — birds of song, if not of plumage — for sickness, accident, or death 
we must take our chance, the highest have no other guard ; we will 
earn our humble meal with grateful hearts and mightily pray heaven's 
blessing on the morrow. 

Louise. [Aside.] I dare not tell him now. 

Eus. There, come give me a kiss, we have no time for melancholy. 
This is all owing to that confounded Countess ! I'll go and cut the cab- 
bages for dinner. 

Enter Delbois. 

Louise. You have returned, monsieur ! 

Bel. Yes. My friend is at the brow of the hill, and having press- 
ing business in the next town, would be obliged by your husband as- 
sisting him with the use of a vehicle to reach it. 

Eus. Yes, certainly I will. Here's a job, you must cut the cabbages 
yourself, my dear. 

Del. My friend is in haste. 

Eus. I am his man ! 

Del. You must start directly. 



EUSTACHK BAUDIir. 17 

Eus. I'll put the mare to in a twinkling . 

Del. I'll tell him so : you'll meet him on the hill ; we will wait for 
you. Exit Delbois — music till end of scene. 

Uus. I'll he with you — good bye, love, I shall be back by seven. Get 
the dinner ready, and I shall have a good day. Bless you, [Kisses 
wife.] and you pops. [Kisses child.] Where's my hat 1 where's my 
whip 1 Give me a drop of wine. [She does and he drinks quickly.] 
One more kiss each of you, and the devil take the countess ! 

He goes off, Louise and the Child looking after him. 

Scene II. — The Heights of the Village. 

Music. — Drum is heard, and Vine Dressers and others come on r., 
and c, Gregory and Pierre b., and look opposite l. 

Gregory. The soldiers are about to march ; we shall have a chance 
of keeping our lasses. Holloa ! here comes Marcel ! [Drum. 

Enter Marcel, with cockade in his hat, seemingly much alarmed and 
very pale, l. h., he does not see hut runs against Gregory. 

Gregory. Holloa, Marcel ! where are you running to '? 

Marcel. I don't know : anywhere out of hearing of that horrible 
drum. 

Gregory. But they are about to march, and you have enlisted ! 

Marcel. I know I have. 

Gregm'y. How came you to do that 1 

Marcel. I don't know : I Avas jealous of that confounded Sergeant 
Pomponneau ! 

Gregory. Well ! 

Marcel. I wish it was well ; his conduct was atrocious, Manou's be- 
came alarming. I left her, swearing I'd never see her again — got 
drinking in desperation — the drink made me valiant, valor made me 
enlist, I drank again till I got dead drunk, when the drum awoke me 
to my senses, and now I'm dead with fright. [Drum.] There it goes 
again, how it rings in my ears. [Drum. 

Pierre. Ha ! ha ! ha ! you'll have the shots ringing in your ears by 
and bye. 

Marcel. Don't! don't! [Alarmed.] you are an old friend of mine, 
now don't joke on so serious a subject. 

Pierre. I'm not joking, Marcel; how came you to make yourself 
such a fool for a v/oman 1 

Marcel. I should like to see the man that hasn't, one way or other, 
made a fool of himself for a woman, he'd be a rare bird. 

Gregory. So he >vould. Marcel ; you have shown a proper courage, 
and she'll tell another tale when she receives the news of your death. 

Omnes. Aye, aye. 

Marcel. Aye, aye ! Ah ! you are all very consoling, kind friends, 
but will any of you take my place? [They turn, he observes them ] 
Ah, the world all over; they'll console you, but curse me if the) U 
help you. I say, Pierre I 

Pierre. WelH 



18 EUSTACHE BAUDIir. 

Marcel You are a fine grown young man ! an uncommon fine fellow, 
taller and handsomer than I am ; I'll give you a chance of becoming 
a great man — you shall be my substitute, I'll run and tell 'em so ! 

Pierre. [Stays him.] Don't trouble yourself. 

Marcel. They'll take you at my recommendation in a minute. 

Pierre. But I am not taken with the idea. 

Marcel. But my figure is not a martial one, I'm not cut out for a 
military man. 

Pierre. Nonsense ; you'll do to be shot at ! 

Marcel. Not half so well as you; now only consider the chance of 
becoming a general. 

Pierre. And only consider the chance of becoming a dead man. 

[Omnes laugh — drum heard. 

Marcel. [In despair to all of them.] Isn't there a patriot among you 1 

Pierre. We can't all be Marcels. 

Marcel. I wish any of you was Marcel, but myself. 

Enter Manou, l. 

3fanou. Oh ! Marcel, what have you been doing 1 
Marcel. What have you made me do 1 make a donkey of myself! 
Manou. No, you were a donkey ready made ; but never mind, 
Marcel, you'll think of me in battle, wont you dear 1 
Marcel. [In despair.] I be hanged if I shan't. 

[Bugle heard — he trembles. 

Enter Sergeant Pomponneau with Soldiers, l. 

Serg. P. Come, my rival and comrade ! 

Marcel. What do you want 1 

Serg. P. You ! [Marcel needs support. 

Manou. Oh dear, dear ! only think, to lose two lovers in one day ; 
was ever a girl so unfortunate 1 

Serg. P. My love, I'll think of you when far away. 

Manou. What good will that do me 1 You had no' business to make 
love to me if you couldn't stay and marry me. 

Marcel. He had no business to make love to you at all, inveigling 
you out of your seven senses, and me into this horrible condition. 
How's the village to get on without me 1 

Manou. I am so sorry, Marcel ! 

Marcel. It serves you right — wc might have been the pride and 
envy of the village. 

Serg. P. Come, fall in ! 

Marcel I shall fall down. [Aside. 

Gregory. Good bye, my brave fellow ! [Music till end of scene-^ 
they all bid good bye and shake hands — drum heard as on march. 

Serg. P. They are on the march ! 

Marcel. And I'm on the shake. 

Serg. P. Forward ! 

They exeunt, Peasants, r., Marcel and soldiers, i* 



EUSTACHE BAUDIIf. Id 

Manou. [Crying.] I don't think there is another young man dis- 
©ngaged. 

SCENE III. — A romantic scene with vine clad hills, and a winding 
road, with ravine between the road and the front view, which is 
rude and picturesque. 

Enter Delbois, r. 

Del. Lamberti has sent me on in haste to watch their passing this 
spot, as the husband of his discovered cousin must be got rid of ; that 
done my friend's fortune is safe and mine also. [Small horse bells are 
heard at distance, and the calash of EtrSTAcnE is seen to pass the high 
road.] Hark! I hear the bells — let me prepare. [Takes out pistols.] I 
must be sure of my mark, he seems a courageous fellow, and.missing, 
I might fare badly with him. [Having looked to pistols, the bells be- 
come louder.] They near ! [Seems to fail] I can scarcely find the 
heart, bad as I am and have been, when I look upon that little home 
of happiness, their hearts of love, it makes me shudder, for I remem- 
ber my father and mother, as happy looking upon me with the same 
dotage as they on their infant, till I grew big in size and sin, and to 
be their curse. [Bells nearer still] Psha ! I am now a sin-stained 
and branded man, I must live and have no other way ; let me be care- 
ful not to hit my friend. [Bells closer — he aims and fires — a plunging 
noise and ring of bells.] I have hit the horse and not the man ! 

[Ijooks to other pistol — Eustaghe leaps down from high point, r. 

Eus. [Hails off.] lloa, monsieur ! here is the villain ! 

[As he is about to come doivn and is upon a ledge over the p'ecipice, 
Delbois turns and f res, Eustache utters a cry, clings as stagger- 
ing to an overhanging and scathed branch, it breaks from the loose 
earth, and as he fulls he utters the words. 

Eus. Louise, my wife! my child ! [Disappears as down the ravine. 
Lamberti enters r., and looks down. 

Lam. She is mine ! [Exultingly. 

Del. That cry — his wife— child ! Oh ! I am life cursed. [.4s Lam- 
berti arrives at his side he seizes him, and raises but-end of pistol] 
why should I not cast thee after him for this 1 

Drums heard and Soldiers seen marching in the distance. 

Lam. Fool ! [Lamberti sinks on knee — Tableau, 

SND OF ACT I. 



20 EUSTACHE BAITDIH. 



ACT II. 



SCENE I. — The Chateau of the Countess D'Alberte near I'erpig' 
non — a handsome apartment with entrance doors, r. and l.; win- 
dows, R. u. E. and L. opening to the ground — a large opening in c. 
with balcony or terrace, beyond which is seen a lake, over which is a 
handsome bridge, country beyond — the furniture is handsome — a 
large glass over the chimney, l. another r. 

Enter Manou as pleased with herself and admiringly , l. 

Manou. Dear me, what a difference fashion mates to be sure: 
really no one could recognize me who knew me at Bonville five years 
since, when I used to run about in my woolen jacket and heavy sa- 
loots — clump, clump, clump ; and there is as much change in my 
mistress, Madame Louise : a strange affair, the sudden disappearance 
of her husband, Eustache ! some say he was murdered, though no 
trace was ever found of him ; others that he eloped with a little girl 
who left the neighborhood about that time. She still frets for him, 
which is a thing I can't make out ; he was a good master I own and a 
good husband I believe, but la ! to pine after a man for five years ! 
I am sure I'd have forgotten Marcel if he hadn't been discharged 
from the army as useless and returned to us, just as Madame Louise 
was made a grea' lady of; she has made him her footnian, h^has 
made me his wife, and there he struts about as proud of his livery as 
a peacock of his tail after moulting time! [Going.] La, Monsieur 
Lamberti returns from his mission to Paris to-day and writes to the 
Countess that we are to prepare apartments for his new valet, let me 
see how I look ! 

[She steps on a chair before the glass, n. and surveys herself. 

Enter Marcel striding, l. 1 e. 

Marcel. I don^t think I want a duster to brush the cobwebs off of 
me ; I used to rail against the aristocracy when I sold eggs and poul- 
try, but now I tell a very differant story since I have become an aris- 
tocrat myself, I turn \\[\ my nose at every thing under silk stockings, 
[Sees glass.] by-thc-bye, I feel awkward at my bow, let me have a 
quiet practice. [3founts table before l. glass. 

Manou. [Having admired herself] Your most obedient, monsieur. 

[ Curtseys. 

Marcel. Your very humble servant, mademoiselle. 

[Bowing — they see each other reflected in the glass. 

Manou. Eh ! 

Marcel. Ah ! [Both turning. 

Manou. You vain fool ! What are you doing upon that table 1 

Marcel. I am standing upon it. What are you doing upon that 
chair 1 

Man&u. Impertinence ! you were admiring yourself, yeu affected 



EUBTACHE BAUDIK. tl 

8}»e .' look at the cover ! get down ! such nonsense ! instead of aeeing 
if you arc wanted ! 

Marcel. Wy business is not to see if I am wanted— if they want me, 
'lis their business to let me know it! 

Manou. Wliy, what do you think yourself? 

Marcel. A head footman ! 

Manou. AVithout a head ! 

Marcel. Do you mean to tell me I haven't a head % 

Manou. A block ! 

Marcel. A head ! 

Manou. Well, a blockhead ! 

Marcel. Ah, beware, you are my wife now, and I wont put up 
with it. 

Manou. Ha ! ha ! ha ! and that's the very reason you must put up 
with it. 

Marcel. [In rage.] I'll sting her ! [Aside.] Sergeant Pomponneau, 
you remember him 1 

Manou. Ah, he was a deaf fellow. 

Marcel. Smashed eggs ! she is my wife and calls another rascal a 
dear fellow ! "Why didn't you marry him ? 

Manou. Because he never gave me a chance ; he never got wounded 
in the back and therefore never came forward. 

Marcel. It was a wretched day for me when I came forward. 

Manou. So I thought, for a greater wretch I never saw — half-dead, 
half-starved, and half-naked ! 

Marcel. How could I help it 1 Didn't the ungrateful wretches dis- 
charge me without a pension 1 

Manoii. And without a character. "What would you have done 
without my interest with Madame Louise, I don't know ; I, sir, made 
you what you are. 

Mat'cel. And I suppose, if somebody were here, you'd make me 
something else 1 

Manou. What do you mean ? 

Marcel. Sergeant Pomponneau ! 

Pomponneau has entered, attired handsomely as a valet. 

Pompon. Holloa — my name ! who the deuce can know me here, eh 1 
What — no — yes — my little Manou ! 

Manou. La ! well I declare — my dear Pomponneau, is it really you 1 

Pompon. It is my sweet. Give me a shake of your dear little hand 

and a kiss of your sweet little [Marcel between looking at him.] 

How are you, my cauliflower 1 [Hitting him on the head, which 
knocks out the hair powder and sets Marcel sneezing — he Jcissei 
Manou. 

Manou. Oh, fie ! 

Marcel. What was that 1 

Pompon. I knew you were fond of the smell of powder, ray dear 
Manou. 

Manou. Don't before my husband. 

Pompon. Husband ! 



22 eustache baudif. 

Marcel. Yes, lier truly begotten husband, and you dare to lay a 
finger upon her. 

Pompon. What! really married ! [T^j Manoit. 

Manou. Yes. [Seriously. 

Pompon. Sweet little boy 1 

Manou. No ! [Seriously. 

Pompon. Lovely little girl 1 

Manou. [Sighs. 

Marcel. What are you talking about 1 

Pompon. I was merely asking 

Marcel. I'd thank you not to interfere with my family. 

Pompon. My dear fellow, upon my honor 

Marcel. Oh ! blow your honor ! Get out of this house. 

Pompon. Can't exactly do that, my friend, as I am about to become 
an inmate here. 

Marcel. Eh! what? 

Pompon. I have left the army, like yourself, and am engaged by 
Monsieur Lamberti as his confidential valet. 

Marcel. He has smashed my aristocracy, as he did my eggs ; [Aside 
to Manou.] I'll discharge myself and so shall you. 

Manou. I wont! 

Marcel. You shall, 

Manou. I wont! [Quarreling — Pompoxxe ad Zau^^s. 

Enter the Countess D'Alberte, e. 

Coun. What is this ? 

Manou. Sergeant Pomponneau, my lad}'. 

Marcel. Who caused me to enlist in the army, 

Coun. Silence 1 [Manou putting him up the stage — to Pomp^nneJIuJ 
Your business 1 

Pompon. [Crosses r. c] With you, I believe lady ; Monsieur Lam- 
berti has sent me as his avant courier to announce his coming. 

Coun. 'Tis well ! Manou, are the apartments prepared'? 

Manou. Yes, your Ladyship ! 

Coun. Conduct this person to them. 

Manou. This way, if you i^lease. 

Marcel. I'll show him ! 

Manou. Nonsense ! 

Marcel. Never mind my nonsense ; I'm not going to have any of 
his. [They exeunt quarreling — Pomponneau laughing, r. 

Coun. So my nephew returns to-day from his mission to annul the 
low marriage of my daughter. I have used all my interest for its ac- 
complishment. The sudden disappearance of her wretched husband 
was a mystery to all. She still prays he lives and live he may, but 
my petition granted puts it beyond his power, should he ever appear, 
of claiming her as his wife. 

Enter Lamberti, he is very differently attired from the first Act—' 
in that having been much disguised in appearance,' with travelling 
dress, cloak, broad hat ^'c. — he now wears an elegant suit, Servani 
precedes him, l. 



EUSTACUK BAUDIir S« 

Servant. Your nepliew, madam. 

Lam. My dear aunt, I congratulate you. 

Coun. Am I successful 1 

Lam To your every wish, the other Empendra Court Ecclesiastic 
in consideration of the wrong done by the abduction of your child, 
and her low maraige with Eustache Baudin, cancel the act, pronoun- 
ing the marriage illegal void m law, and annulled — banned by the 
church. 

Coun. I am then at last happy and my daughter free. 

Ijam. We have but to wait the arrival of the signed warrant, and 
then 1 may legally ask my dear cousin's hand, the fifth year has ex- 
pu-ed and I joyfuly claim the fulfilment of her promise. 

Coun. Nephew, she will doubtless make me happy and keep her 
word, though the pledge she has given to wed you, was most reluc- 
tantly yielded and cost us both more anguish than I would remember, 
therefore I now give her to you in faith and hope of your whole life's 
cherishing. 

Lam. Thanks, dear aunt for such a treasure. 

Coun. Prize it. [He bows.] I'll announce to my daughter her en- 
franchisement. [Lamberti leads her to door — hows her off, r. 

Lam. Click — deuce — ace — game, ha, ha, ha! [Takes the stage.'] 
Thus we of the world push on our fortune — Louise's husband stood in 
my way and I pushed him from me — gave Delbois a handsome purse 
to dispose of him and secure his own flight — my cousin now free — 
her husband gone — Delbois, my agent dead, or without knowledge 
of my whereabouts — I may consider myself for life safe and at my 
ease. 

During this and at the mention of his name, Delbois has entered, l., 
wretched and worn in appearance, and as Lamberti takes one 
chair — seizes another almost fainting and sits at the same moment 
as Lamberti who seeing him starts paralyzed. 

You here ! 

Del. Yes, quite by accident though. I saw you as you entered, saw 
at once the worldly stream was running well with you and being in 
anything but smooth water myself, I thought I could not do a wiser 
thing than make for the same harbor. 

Lam. You cannot stay here. 

Del. I must, and what's more I will ! 

Lyam. Must — will ! — and Avhy 1 

Del. Because you seem to tread upon a very comfortable carpet, 
and one that will suit my corns exactly, I have nothing like so good 
a home myself, in fact I have no home at all. 

Lam. After that affair, I gave you a handsome sum, and wc sep- 
arated for ever. 

Del. How can that be when we are together now 1 and what's more, 
my dear friend, I never intend to leare you again. 

Lam. We agreed to do so, and 

Del. Ah ! well, we'll talk of that by-and-bye— you know I always 
bad a good appetite, and whatever else I may have lost 1 haven't lost 



24 EUSTACHE EADDIW. 

that — so let your servants bring a tray well served, a bottle of yonj 
best wine — for I quite long for a gentlemanly repast. 

Lam. The servants and household must not see you — here take 
this! • [Offers purse, they rise. 

Del. Money is of no use to me, it a41 goes. I want comfortable board 
and lodging — I am tired of living one day and starving the next. 

Lam. You must quit this house. 

Del. I am too tired I tell you and I won't, besides I want to have a 
chat about old times, and the wife of that fellow we shot. 

Lam. Silence! [In fear. 

Del. Well, there I won't make you nervous, you have married her 
of course, and have the handling of her fortune, and being settled your 
self, you can of course make me snug 1 

Lam. I have not yet married — and your presence here may destroy 
all and yourself, 

Del. Myself, how 1 

Lam. She has ever spoken of your face being fixed on her remem- 
brance. 

Del. And yours 

Lam. I was much disguised as you know, she scarce saw me — it 
was your acute, craving, appetite, caused her notice. 

Dd. Can I help my appetite — I must have something now. 

Lam. Hark ! footsteps — this door, for heaven's sake — I will be with 
you anon ! [Pushing him in, l. 

Del. With something to eat. 

Lam. Yes, yes — lock the door within. Exit Delbois l, d. 2 e. 

On this day too — the curse of accomplices — were it to do again, my 
own hand 

Enter Louise. 

My dear cousin ! [Offering his hand, which she wiihdraivs from . 

Louise. Your pardon, I have too much anxiety here at my heart for 
ceremonious compliment. 

Lam. Cousin, what mean youl 

Louise. This. The Countess informs me that you have returned 
successful from a mission annulling my marriage with Eustache even 
if he live, a union which was as duly truly performed and registered 
as ever heaven's holy altar witnessed, what earthly law has power to 
sever us ; we were conjoined in sacred communion of heart, mind, 
thought and will. Oh, cruel and sinful is that act that tears those 
bonds asunder. 

Lam. Oh, cousin, you must see now that fraud lay beneath his 
surfaced love and that interest was the guiding impulse — he knew 
your birth to be above his station. 

Louise. His generous mind and soul, soaring beyond all interest, 
was incapable of fraud ; he ever knew me destitute of all protection, 
save that of his parents and his own, and he nobly became my life's 



ECSTACHE BAUDIN. 25 

Louise. To make one for me, and that only at ray entreaty j but I 
am, you say, free and uinvedded even should Eustache live '? 

Lam. The Synod's order to that effect arriving, yes. 

Louise. And af liberty 1 

Lam. Yes, according to law and the affectionate wishes and hopes 
of your lady mother, the Countess D'Alberte, at liberty to wed. 

Louise. [With desperate feeling.] Release me from this calamity! 

Lara. And you would fly to a still greater evil — commit a sin that 
shuts out hope of pardon. 

Louise. There can be no deeper state of suffering or sin than that 
resulting from shameless apostacy to truth and honor ; that which 
changing the heart's sworn faith and innocence, accepts and lives a 
foul and an abhorrent lie. 

Lam. Yes, the sin of obstinate defiance of the church, whose stern 
anathema you will sure incur by disobedience to your mother's will. 
'Tis threatened, and it will fall upon you. 

Louise. Ha ! 

Ijam. I save you then from that fearful evil, that solemn curse, 
that desolating ban, wherein the irrevocable wrath of heaven is ex- 
pressed ; and this you impiously call calamity 1 

Louise. Most fe.'ful and heart withering. 

Lam. Oh, reall}* cousin. 

Louise. For when, after two years weary watching for the return 
of my husband Eustache, and he came not; sick, hopeless and in 
poverty most dire: I yielded to my mothers prayer and came here, 
I dreamed not of this, and it but confirms the thought that long lias 
haunted me, that you cousin Lamborti had some hand in the disap- 
pearance of my husband. 

Lam. [Stai-ts.] I — I "? [Hesitating. 

Louise. You ! — for I remember two travellers were at our house, 
[lie again starts.] one I noticed not, but the other who came to en- 
gage my husband for that journey, from which he never rerurned to 
me, I could swear to — his face is ever before me. 

J)el. [Coming from door, l.] I can't stand this. 

Lam. A wild dream ! 

Louise. No ! I see hira plainly as if he were [She sees Delbois 

as he comes down — utters a cry and falls prostrate by chair. 

Jjam. My curse upon you ! 

Del. What's the matter "? who is she 1 

Lam. My cousin ! Fly, or in another hour wc are both denounced 
as her husband's murderers ! 

Del. The devil ! but I have had nothing to eat. 

Lam. [Pushing him.] Go, cormorant — fly ! [Poiyiis,] through that 
door. [Points to l. d.] I'll meet you at the gate — your life here is 
not safe. 

Del. I'm off then, but I shall not stir from the gate. 

Lam. Aw^y ! [Pushes him off, l. d. 

Fnier Mdlle. Louise, /rom k. d. 

Mdlle. Louise. Ha, ma ! dear ma ! [Clings to Louise as she is rt- 
eovering, and Lamberti is about to raise her. 



26 EUSTACUE BACDI5. 

Louise. [Rejecting his hand.] No — no — I 

Enter Maxou and Marcel, quarrelling, &. 

Marcel. I insist on j'our leaving this house imm^iately. 

Manou. I beg you wont make yourself such a fool. 

Mdlle. Louise. Ma — dear ma. 

Manou. My lady, what is this'? 

Louise. [Looking round.] Saw you a stranger 7 

Manou. No! 

Marcel. Yes, I saw— he is up stairs. 

Louise. Ha ! 

Lam. [Alarmed.] Marcel! 

Louise. I denounce that man ! 

Marcel. So do I ! 

Manou. La, Madame, 'tis only Sergeant Pomponneau. 

Louise. Marcel, see quickly if there is not a stranger in the house 
or the grounds, and inform me on the instant; Manou, lam faint, 
lead me in ; come Louise, for your life may not perhaps be in safety 
liere. [Glancing at Lambertl 

[Exit Louise, with Manou and Mdlle Louise, r. 1 e. 

Marcel. I shan't look after strangers ; I've enough to do to attend 
to my own affairs now — damn Pomponneau, I'll look after him. 

Exit, in a great passion, l. 1 e. 

Lam. This encounter is ruin, I must get rid of Delbois at any price. 
[As he passes table, TS..] What's this'? [Takes up jewel case.] A case 
of my aunt's jewels ! [Slaps his thigh as with a sudden thought.] A 
man of talent never fails — I'll bribe him with these to disappear, their 
loss will account for his having been seen here ; if he return, I'll 
charge him with the robbery — now for him. [Exit, l. d. 

Enter ^ERYA^ifrom terrace, and Eustache with a packet in his 

hand. 

Eus. Deliver this to the Countess D'Alberte. 

Servant. Instantly ! 

Eus. And you Avill please to say, I must know from her that she 
has received it. 

Servant. Veiy well. [Exit, r. d. very pompously. 

Eus. These aristocrats ! their servants are tainted with pride ; and 
she is now doubtless as proud and looks with the same scorn upon the 
lowly — she whom I so loved, so worshipped — no, no, she was ever 
all charity and goodness — could I but find her and my poor child 
who was my pet, my pride, in whom my hopes seemed bouu 1, [S'l'^s.] 
who ere this has perhaps no remembrance of such a being — has been 
taught, it may be, to despise the class that owns her father. 

Re-enter Servant, r, d. 

Servant. I have delivered 5'our packet to the Countess, and she will 
Bee you shortly — in the mean time I will order you some refreshment 



EUSTACHE BAtJDIN. 27 

Eus. None, I thank you, see but my horse refreshed — I would mak* 
the next stage to-night on my retuvn. 

Servant. Oh, very well, your horse shall have a double feed. 

[Exits at terrace, l. 

Eus. How long will this Countess keep me waiting ? Oh, how chang- 
ed my nature since that day I I seem to hate all who bear a titled 
name — instinctively to shudder, when sheltered by the walls that owu 
them. I cannot breathe freely here — I'll walk upon the terrace. 

As he exits at hacJc, Louise enters, r. 

Louise. It has come — the fatal instrument of law and power — that 
were he here before me would make us strangers, branding our union 
as illegal. Had I been widowed, I could have borne and bowed in res- 
ignation to the decree, but now — oh, fatal promise ! — yet who could 
longer resist a mothers tears 1 As the hour draws near, my heart palls 
at the redemption of ray pledge — I cannot make this sacrifice. It was 
no dream, the face I saw here but now; it was a living one and con- 
firms the suspicion that Lamberti caused our separation. I will know if 
that man is lurking near, for by him I am convinced my husband 
must have 

Enter Edstache, c. ' 

Eus. Lady, I [Sees Louise and stay-ts.] Louise ! 

Louise. Ha ! I am saved — I am preserved — and he still lives for 
me! [They embrace. 

Eus. lie does ! But is this real 1 Wife, look up, and confirm this 
dream of happiness ! 

Louise. Eustache, we have suffered deeply — our greatest trouble is 
still ta come. No, no, no — I am not your wife ! 

[Shuddering and half retiring. 

Eus. Not my wife, not my own Louise '? Oh, it is as I thought, sha 
is now to proud to own the poor man. I see — I see. 

[In despairing pride. 

Louise. See, Avhat 1 

Eus. The cause of your flight — the reason of your absence from 
Bonville and of my endless miseiy. 

Louise. I thought j ou dead. 

Eus. And prayed it. 

Louise. Eustache, oh did you know 

Eus. I do, Poncelet informed me all, that that woman whom I saved 
was your proud and haughty mother, who could only show her gra- 
titude for life preserved, by trying to rob me of mine, or failing in 
that, to render life worthless — by blighting my happy home and 
crushing all that I could live for. 

Louise. Eustache, you wrong my mother, two years did I waleh, 
daily, nightly, praying your return, no tidings could we gain of you — 
nothing knew, but that your horse was found dead upon the road-~I 
expended my last coin for messengers and inquiry — health sank each 
coming day, Avith heavy sorrow weighing at my heart — I wa* desti- 
tute till a small cottage of Monsieur Poncelet's received u« 



28 : EUSTACHE BAUDIN. 

Eus. Who s:ill would have protected you, 

Louise. Yes, yes, most true, but my mother 

Eus. I know ! she won you to her pride and you left wiih her. 

Louise. Not for myself, I swear, but for my child's sake. Oh, tell me 
how came all this evil upon us 1 

Eus. I will tell you, for if I wronged your mother her presence was 
the cloud that ushered in the storm. I had scarcely taken the travel- 
ler a league upon the road when my horse was shot, my quick eye 
saw him who fired, I released myself from ray saddle — flew towards 
the villain — saw the flash of a second pistol — it was my last con- 
ciousness till I found myself in a strange place to which I had been 
borne, bound hand and foot — presumed and declared a lunatic. 

Louise. You were not mad % 

Eus. No, but money had done its work, and I was life-doomed 
amongst those deemed incurable, where the more I declared my 
sanity, the more they tormented and mocked mo. 

Louise. Then how escaped you 1 

Eus. By assuming the exhaustion of approaching death — with ill- 
concealed joy, my cruel keepers dragged me to a low room leaving 
me to breath my last unheaded, I leaped from my pallet — seized tho 
lamp that gave dim light to my charnel house, set flame to tlie strav/ 
that was to be my shroud, it blazed, caught the dry rotting boards 
around, and amid the fears of jailors and tlie wild cry of their 
victims made my way through the dark night, flying with lightning's 
speed till I fell prostrate in exhaustion. 

Louise. Oh, dreadful ! 

Eus. And this is your mother's work ! Awakened on the morrow by 
the mid-day's blistering sun upon my fevered limbs, I found that I 
was far distant from my home, but thought of wife and child gave re- 
turning hope and hope gave strength — I journeyed on, and arrived to 
find it desolate — no wife, no child — all gone ! — fled none knew where. 

Louise. But my mother told Monsieur Poncelet 

Eus. That you wer« to be found at Rheims — to which I hastened, 
but in vain. 

Enter Madlle. Louise. 

Mdlle. Louise. Ma ! dear ma ! [Starts at seeing Eustache. 

Eus. Those features — the voice resembling, too ! Ha ! it is my 
ch . 

Louise. Hush ! [stays him, as IMadlle. LomsE flies towards her. 

Mdlle. Louise. Ma ! protect me. 

Eus. Are you not 

Louise. Oh, heavens ! 

Eus. What is this 1 

Mdlle. Louise. Dear ma ! who is this rough rude man 1 Do you 
know him 1 

Louise. Yes, yes, rtiy child — he was once very kind to you. 

Eus. [ With broken accents.] Oh, yes, she knows I was always kind 
to you, and when I nursed you 



ECrSTACHE BAUDIX. 2d 

MdUe. Louise. Nursed me ! [Suprised. 

Eus. [ With burst of feeling.] Yes, my child, tossed you in my arms 
and pressed you to my heart 

Louise. Eustache ! 

JUus. What 1 [Looks at her.] Is slie not my child, my 

Louise. Yes, yes, but she has been taught 

Uus. To think not, speak not of, or know her father — ha ! am I not 
right 1 

Louise. [Sinking.] Go, go, child — to the Countess, I will como to 
you anon. 

Mdlle. Louise. Do not be long, dear ma. 

[Louise puts her off^ Eustache looks. 

Eus. [Taking Louise hy the arm.] Louise ! [Li reproach. 

Louise. Heaven support me, for if I follow the dictates of my heart, I 
must sacrifice my child ; oh, I cannot provoke the heavy desolating 
curse now hovering o'er me ; oh, no — that I cannot do. Keep your 
reproaches till you know all, let her not hear, and let your temper liold ; 
from this hour must we forget each other, the sacred bond between us 
is for ever broken — a mother's cold unfeeling pride has raised a bar- 
rier impassable between us. The lips of holy men denunciate a curse 
upon the union they once did solemnly scanctify with blessings; oh, 
Eustache, to be obebient to my love, is to be the anathemized of hea- 
ven ; to yield lo my mother's heartless will — to be for ever a spirit- 
crushed and broken hearted woman ; I cannot sin against heaven, 
Eustache, I — I am no longer your wife 1 

Eus. May [About to curse. 

Louise. Oh, stay, you yourself have borne the missive hither that 
separates us, and for ever. 

Eus. The missive — what 1 

Lonise. My mother has sought the aunulment of our marriage— has 
succeeded, and that packet you but now delivered declares our union 
void and illegal. 

Eus. And our child a 

Louise. Ha ! — oh, brain ! [Sinks. 

Eus. Ha, ha, ha! does the law in tearing you from me give legiti- 
macy to our offspring 1 No, it takes not my blood from it — no, the 
father may condescend to claim his unlawfully begotten child — but 
the mother, what says she 1 [ With pride.] I'll have my child ! 

With proud determination. 

Louise. Would you kill me 1 — my mother, 

Eus. Are we not both widowed by her '? Our child by her made 

Louise. Hold' 

Eus. No ! — bastard ! 

Louise. Oh, Eustache ! 

Eus. The truth shall be spoken, though you shudder when you hear 
it. Adieu ! 

Louise. Stay, go not — I will brave all and fly with you. 

Eus. And my child. 

Louise. Oh, in your love of her, think of my mother's for me : 8bt 
will cars for her — make her — - 



AO EUSTACHE BADDIN, 

Eus. What 1 spurn you and contemn you — I'll have my child, be 
assured I'll apply to the authorities and return armed with power to 
assert my right. Go, lady, daughter of the Countess D'Alberte, teach 
my child to own hor father and I will then own you. [Exit, c. 

Louise. Eustache ! — yet what avails without his child 1 He is firm I 
yet my mother — oh, had I never known her, I had never pined or felt 
for her, as I now perforce must do. 

Enter Countess and Child, k. 

Court. Louise, where is the courier who so insulted your child 1 

Louise. Gone ! 

Coun. Gone ! Why did you not detain him, Louise. Your daughter 
tells me he would have embraced her. 

Louise. He said he was a father, and her likeness to his own 
daughter 

Coun. His daughter resemble child of yours 1 

Louise. Countess, I sicken here where all is pride and heartlessness 
give me my child and let me go with her a beggar hence. 

Coun. Are you mad 1 

Louise. I am, and you have made me so. 

Enter Advocate Monsieur Dels aire. 

Delbaire. Countess, your servant. I am here according to your re- 
quest. 

Enter Lamberti, l, d. 

Lam. I have got rid of Delbois, at least for some time. [Aside ] 
My dear aunt 

Coun. George, you are here opportunely. You have brought the 
contract of marraige, Monsieur Delbaire 1 

Delbaire. It is here Countess. 

Coun. And here the warrant that dissolves the previous disgraceful 
union. 

Louise. [Snatches it.] — Which here I rend, as a deed shameful to 
all who sought it ! 

Cotin. Daughter, would you have my curse 1 

Enter Mademoiselle Louise. 

Louise. No! [Takes Madlle. liOmQ-R as she enters.] I would have 
iny child to render to her father. 

Coun. Her father 1 

Lam. Cousin, he is dead. 

Louise. He lives ! 

Omnes. Lives ! 

Louise. And unknowingly brought himself that accursed missive ; 
he now claims his wife and child I 

Del. [Without] Help! help! 

Omnes Whit's that] 



KtlSTACHE BAODIX. 81 

Det.bois 1'uns on in fear y c. 

Lam. \ Aside.] Delbois ! 

Del. »*!lave me from his hands ! 

Lcntise. Ha ! that is the assassin ! 
[A:} EusTACHE dashes past Servants, who arrived at c. in affright 

Lam. Ha ! Stay ! [As Eustache is rushing to Delbois. 

Eus. I have no words [Throws him aside.] but these ! [Holds forth 
his hands.] Come ! [Thi-ows him over by throat. 

Louise. Eustache ! 

Eus. [Standing with his foot vpon Delbois.] I live Mousicur Tra- 
veller, as you see; and I am here, lady, [To Countess,] to demand 
my child ! 

Tableau, 

END OF ACT II. 

ACT III. 

SCENE I. — Half the stage or more on the l. is taken up by the inter- 
rior of a small Lin, ivith door of entrance at the back — a stair 
leads off' to upper room extreme h.—a window looks onto stage towards 
B. — tables and cJmirs — distant country in heights seen over the roof 
of the inn, and path downwards — on the r. a small gate leading to 
a chapel, with a grave yard hounded by a low stone wall, so that 
the humble tombs appear — one stands by wall, on which is written 
"Eustache." — a path winds up r. between trees. 

Enter Marcel, down stairs, followed by Manou — he has his nightcap 
on, and is putting on his coat — they are quarrelling 

Marcel. Don't tell me, madame — I'm lord and master of this inn, 
and I'll sleep as long as I like ! 

Manou. You'll sleep 1 

Marcel. Don't tell me ! 

Manou. I will tell you ! I'll always tell a fool what I think of him. 

Marcel. And I'll tell you what I "think of you and your conduct. 
Last night, didn't I catch you laughing at the customers 1 

Manou. Would you have me cry at them 1 

Marcel. I'll give up inn-keeping, and retire into private life. 

Manou. You may retire into what life you like, or retire from life 
altogether if you choose. 

Marcel. Of course ! to make room for Pomponneau. You want me 
in my grave, like that poor fellow your old master, Eustache, there. 

[Points. 

Manou. Poor fellow ! He was worthy of a wife. 

Marcel. Yes, and had a wife worthy of him. She never loved 
another. 

3Ianou. I won't bear this— I will not ! You'll break my heart, I 
am sure you will. Wbat have I ever done to rouse such horribU 
jealousy 7 

Marcel. [In passion.] Pomponneau! 



EUSTACHE BAUDIir. 83 

PoMroxNKAtT, attired in officer's servant's travelling dress, enters at 
the wot d, with whip and portmanteau — staHs. 

Pompon. Odd — very — my name — my friends ! 

Mai'cel. [Turns and sees him.] Pamn me, if he isn't here too ! 

[Throws his nightcap down and sits in rage. 

Manou. {Sees him."] Ah ! 

Pompon. What ! Ha, ha, ha ! Upon my life, this is odd. 

Marcel. It's any thing but even. 

Pompon. Manou, and my old friend, Marcel ! 

[About to shake his hand. 

Marcel. Don't old friend me. What do you want here 1 

Pompon. To wash the dust out of my throat. 

Marcel. Or to throw dust into my eyes, which 7 

Pompon. Ha, ha, ha ! what ! as great an idiot as ever. 

Manou. What will you take 1 

Marcel. Why himself out of this house, to be sure, come • 

[Approaches Pomponneau. 

Pompon. [Draws.] A-la-distance, if you please — I am here, a weary 
traveller, I require refreshment and I'll have it. 

Marcel. I know the refreshment you've come here for. [Aside. 
• Manou. Of course ! we keep a public inn, don't we 1 

Marcel. Yes — but you belong to the private business. 

Pompon. I have walked in the dust from the road where the dili- 
gence set me down — am on my way to the new chateau of the Coun- 
tess D' Alberts. 

Marcel. Ah, don't tell me — you left her nephew's service three years 
ago. 

Pompon. Re-entered the army, and am now in the service of young 
captain. Count de Brissac who is in love with young Louise, and I 
suppose will wed her ; but come, I am tired, thirsty, and must have 
a bottle of your best wine. 

Manou. Well, you must have one, I suppose. [LooJcs at him. 

Pompon. Of course I must. 

Marcel. [Uncorks and gives him a bottle.] There, [Sulkily.] if you 
drink that it will physic you, or I'm no judge. 

Pompon. Your health 1 [To Marcel. 

Marcel. Oh! [Turns. 

Pompon. Manou, may your husband live to grow wiser. 

Marcel. I tell you what [Pomponneau having tasted some, spurU 

it out, some going upon Marcel who is aproaching.] the nasty wretch. 

Pompon. [ With a face.] Vinegar ! 

Manou. Why, you have given him one of the sour bottles. 

Marcel. He shouldn't come here souring my temper, I'd give him 
poison, if I had it. 

Manou. I really beg your pardon ; go and fetch one from the se- 
cond rack — go ! [Pushes him. 

Marcel. And leave you together ! not if I know it. 

Manou. Fool ! I'll go myself. [She exits ^ L. 

Pompon. [Kindly.] AVell Marcel, how do you find yourself 1 



EUSTACHE BAUDIir. "3| 

Marcel Oh, don't soap me. 

Re-enter Manou, l. 
Manou. There's a beautiful drop of wine ! 

Marcel. Give it me— you are not going near him. [Places wine.] 
Now drink up and be off. 

Pompon. Ha, ha, ha ! is this the way he treats all his customers 1 

Manou. Nearly. 

Marcel. Treat '? I don't treat anybody— I expect to be paid. 

Pompon. I certainly do not expect my wine for nothing, here . 
[Gives coin.] Keep the change, my man. 

Marcel. I'm no man of yours, I don't want your change, take it- 
five sous. 

Pompon. I won't take it, my man. 

Marcel. I'm no man ! 

Manou. No— that you are not ! 

Marcel. Take your change ! 

Pompon. I will not, my man. 

Marcel. Then out it goes. [The door being left open ly Pomponneao 
he throws it out and as Monsieur Poncelet, who has been seen cojk. 
ing down the path, enters it hits him. 

Pon. Oh ! oh ! 

Manou. You idiot. 

Marcel. I really beg your pardon. 

Pon. Not intentional, of course % 

Pompon. Well, I'll be off; how far to the chateau 1 

Manou. About a quarter of a mile. 

Pompon. Adieu ! dear— which road 1 

Marcel. Go straight out of the door, and follow your nose. 

Pompon. I shall call again ! 

[Exits as Marcel in a rage slams the door. 

Pon. Now my friends ^^ 

Manou. Eh % [Looks. 

Pon. Surely I am not mistaken, though years have passed. 

Manou. At Bonville, sir— Monsieur Poncelet 1 

Pon. The same ; and you, little Mauou, married, I suppose 1 

Manou. [Rather sadly.] Yes ! 

Pon. And this your husband 1 

Manou. [In the same tone.] Yes ! 

Pon. Why so melancholy a tune 1 

Manou. Dreadfully jealous ! 

Pon. Ha, ha, ha ! a little jealousy keeps up the spice of love. 

Marcel. Pepper ! 

Pon. Why 'tis Marcel. How do you do 7 

Marcel. Well as I can— not exactly as I would. [ Glancing at Manou. 

Pon. Any family 1 

Manou. No, Monsieur. And how do you do, sir 1 Pray what brings 
you so far from home 1 

Pon I have been to the funeral of a sister, and am on my way to 



EUSTACHE UAUDIN. 84 

the diligence. Tell me — you entered the service of Louise Baudin's 
mother 1 

3[anou. And remained with her till very lately. 

3Iarcel. So did I, from the time I retired from the army. 

Pon. Oh, I remember, you enlisted from jealousy. Did you retire 
with any honors — any mark of distinction 7 

Marcel. Eh 1 Oh, yes — a shot in the centre of the back. 

Fo7i. Ha, ha, ha ! [Marcel looks.] But the Countess and Louise 1 

Manou. They reside at a small chateau within half a mile of this. 

Pon. Indeed! 

Marcel. Oh, yes— she placed us in this inn as a reward for our 
faithful services. 

Manou. To get rid of your annoyance. 

Pon. And my poor friend Eustache— he returned to Bonville two 
years after she left, but as the mother had given me a false address, 
he could not trace them. The last I heard from him was that he had 
found service as a government courier. 

Manou. Alas, sir ! he is dead. You may see his grave from the 
window. [She throws it open.] See ! 

Po7i. [Looks.] " Eustache." And he lies there— of a broken heart, 
d-oubtless. 

Marcel. Something like it. Women are enough to break any man's 
heart [Exit l. up stairs. 

Manou. Silence ! [Stamps.] 'Tis quite a romance, sir. By the 
power of the Countess and her nephew their marriage was pronounced 
illegal, and strange to say, he brought them the document. There 
was a terrible scene— he discovered not only his wife, but in her 
cousin Lamberti and a companion, those who had attempted his des- 
truction; but a casket of jewels happening to lay at his ,feet, Lam- 
berti had him arrested upon a charge of stealing them. He was hur- 
ried to Paris, tried for that and contumacy of church and state, and 
condemned to imprisonment for life. 

Pon. But his wife, Louise— did she not stand forth in his defence! 

Manou. All that woman could do, she did ; but there was a power 
greater than her truthful love. 

Pon. And the grave you point to rae is his 1 

Manou. On his journey to the fort where he was to be confined, 
he attempted, it appears, to escape his guard, and was shot near this 
and buried there. Madame Louise hearing of it, won upon her mo- 
ther to reside here, and had this tablet erected ; she daily visits it. 

Pon. May his wronged spirit rest in peace. [Bell heard. 

Manou. Hark ! 'tis the hour of her approach ; And see they come. 

[Music. 

Enter Louise, with two female Servants. She bids them leave her — 
ihey enter gate and exit. She kneels to tombstone. 

Louise. Eustache, I pay this daily tribute to thy grave in memory 
of truest, dearest, fondest love — my brother, friend, and husband. 
Power's cruel law has severed but not parted us, for you are ever with 
5iie — your form in day before me — at night your shade I see as watch- 



EDSTACHE BAUDIN. 85 

ing over me. Oh, look upon your wife — smile upon your child till we 
meet in happy union there. 

As she kneels with uplifted hands, Pastor having come down, raises 
his hands. 

Pastor. Daughter ! 

Louise. Father ! 

Pastor. My benison be on you. Come, the service waits. 

[They enter gate. Music. 

Pon. Poor faithful girl ! I must still call her so. And do the ser- 
vants and neighbors know 1 

Manou. They think 'tis the erring son of an old faithful servant of 
the family. 

Pon. I will call upon her ; so get me refreshment. 

Manou. With pleasure. 

Music. They do so, while Poncelet places his hat and cloaJc, ^'c. 
Music is heard in chapel, as Eustache is seen to come dozen r. de- 
clivity. He has long heard and hair [not in extreme.] He is pale 
and careworn, has a staff, and leans upon it. 

Eus. My eye stretches its dim gaze towards Bonville — shall I ever 
reach 1 My strength fails — hunger fastens on me — a cold damp chill 
— [Music of chapel louder.] Ha ! the chapel service for the dead ! 
Could I reach its porch, that its tones might mingle with prayers for 
them — that the holy father might passing, give me blessing, and his 
ear receive my dying words. [He makes an effort, hut reaching the 
face of his gra,ve stone, falls exhausted. 

Pon. Wliat strange circles in time's wheels we trace in our life's 
onward way — sad realities that beggar the power of fiction. 

Enter Manou with tray, wine, ^x., l. 2 e. 

Manou. Here we are, sir — we have not much ready, but what there 

is 

Pon. More than plenty. 
Marcel. I'll draw the cork. 

Enter, from chapel, Paul Jardix and People who see 1S,ust ache. 

Paul. What's this neighbors 1 a dying way-worn man, he has yet 
life. [Feels his heart.] He breaths, moves 

Eus. This parching thirst — my utterance fails — oh, for one drop to 
moisten my fevered lips. 

Paul. Kun to the inn — do you assist me to raise him. 

[Some do so — Peasant runs and knocks at inn and enters. 

Peasant. Here's a poor dying man at the stranger's tomb. 

Pon. Ha ! [Runs to tvindow.] Bring him here, my friends. 

Paid, [to Eustache.] Look up my friend, you have traveled far. 

Eus. Yes, and also without food or rest. 

Paid. You shall have both in comfort now. 

Eus. I fear too late. [Bell tolls as they lead him in.] That sound is 
•ure ray knell. [^5 he is hoi'ne in — music] 



86 EUSTACHE BAUDIK. 

Pon. Poor fellow — place him here. [They put hem in chair, he hoi 
dropped his head.] Quick, the wine. [Manou grici'S i7 — he places it 
to his lips, during which Pastor and Louise ai'e seen to enter from 
the chapel— all the rest are within he inn— Eu^tache drinks the wine 
eagerly. 

Pon. I fear for him. 

Eus. What renewed agony of life— -I had angel dreams, music 
around with thrilling notes of i)eace. 

[He again droops, Poncelet places wine to his lips. 

Pon. Give air. 

Louise. [ Who has again knelt at the to^nh.] Eustache, he ever neai 
me thy spirit hover round, 

Eus. I die — a priest 

Pon. Fly to the chapel, to the Pastor. 

[Louise has risen — Paul exits and sees Pastor. 

Paul. Worthy sir, a poor dying man is in the inn and needs your 
aid. 

Louise. Ha, father, let us in. [About to go. 

Pastor. My child, you have enough of woe — I'll go alone. 

Louise. Haste then I intreat, and here is that to help his need — 
adieu ! [Pastor is seen to enter. 

Pon. Good father, your aid, here is the holy man. 

Eus. [Looks up.] Father I would have your [Sees Poncelet. 

Pon. Great powers that face 

Eus. A moment, father — one word — you are 

Pon. Your friend, Poncelet, for you are 

Eus. Eustache Baudin. 

Manou. It is — it is ! 

Eus. Say tell me — where is she — does she live 1 

Pon. She does. 

Eus. My child '\ 

Pon. Yes. 

Eus. [On his knees.] Bless you — bless you ! 

By this Lime Louise is upon path over roo/— Servants off. 

Louise. For you, Eustache and our child, my constant prayers and 
love. [Hands upraised. 

Delbois and Lamberti seen to come a little before on r. rise, looking 
on, in disguised attire — Tableau. Scene closed i7i slowly. 

SCENE II. — Neighborhood of the Inn on the road to the Chateau 
Enter Delbois, followed by Lamberti, r. 

Pel. Ha, ha, ha ! oh my sides, they'll burst, I know they will, ha, ha! 

Lam. What the deuce is the matter with you 1 

Pel A woman erecting a tombstone, and snivelling ever it every 
day in the year, thinking her husband lies beneath, when he's alive 
and kicking in one of our strongest forts. 

Lam. Well, it is odd ! 



EUSTACHE BAUDIIT. 87 

Del. Yes, and tolerably clever of you to persuade her to it ; how 
the devil did you contrive it 1 

Lam. With the greatest case ; one of his fellow prisoners was shot 
near this on the way to their sentence : I was by chance in the neigh- 
borhood — claimed the privilege of seeing hiui buried, as one I had 
known, the son of a tenant in better times — it was granted; I said 
his real name was Eustache Baudin, and procured a certificate of 
burial in that name — sent it to the Countess and Louise, with a letter 
from the pastor who performed it^they swallowed all of course. I 
little thought they would come to reside here. 

Del. No, that's awkward, because the pastor 

Lam. The pastor is dead, my boy ; I am safe there. 

Del. It's a pity though you didn't stick to the old Countess. 

Lam. I did, till she would no longer stick to me ; she entrusted 
me with the management of her affairs, till I managed them nearly 
into my own hands, which she found out ; I made the most of what 
I could lay hold of, and bade her adieu one morning before she was 
awake. 

Del. But that's all gone, you are now as poor as 

Lam. A rat ! she has moved about since, but I have tracked my 
lady, and must hasten to the chateau. 

Del. Won't that be dangerous *? 

Lam. Fool ! Is not the young Chevalier de Brissac in love with 
little Louise and about to marry her. 

Del. Well— Avhat of that 1 

Lam. Would he take the hand of one whose father toils as a felon 1 
leave me alone, I have my plans, and now for the Chateau and the 
Countess. ' [Crosses l. 

Del. I can't go there, that woman knows me ; besides, I am dread- 
fully hungry and must eat, 

Lam. There ! [Gives monej/.] go to the inn by the chapel— no one 
will know you there. 

Del. This is barely enough for drink. What can I get to eat with 
this 1 you don't know the present depth of my digestive cavity. 

Lam. Take all and I'll starve ! [Throws purse. 

Del. [Aside.] I don't care who starves so long as I don't. 

Lam. Be prudent, wait till I join you — say nothing. 

Del. If they'll find me enough to eat I shan't want to talk. [.45 
they go.] I say, if you get into a little difficulty, don't leave me with 
my inexperience in this strange place. [Lxii, Lambekti. l. 

Now that fellow, though a very old friend of mine, is a regular rogue 
in grain ; I'm bad enough myself, but I can't go so far as he, except 
when I'm hungry. Holloa ! here's a young Avoman, I was always 
fond of the girls, though somehow they never took much to me ; let's 
see what this one's made of. 

LJnter Manou, r. with a small hasJcet. 

Manov.-, Dear me, what a flurry I am in to be sure- -not an egg in 
the house to make the poor creature an omelette, so I ran to Madame 
Bimon's ; Louise too, what a surprise ! I can't think, and I must not 
stay thinking. 



9$ EUSTACllE BAUDIN. 

Del. [Staying Iter .] How do you do, my little chicken 1 
Manou. I'm no chicken, sir ! I'm a married woman, and if yon 
don't let me go on mv way, you may find yourself /le/t-pecked. 

Del As witty as i)retty. Now you see my dear [Staying her 

Manou. Are you a man, sir 1 

Del. Well, 1 was born a boy, and have grown to what you see. 

3Ianou. A ruffian ! 

Del. You shall pay for that. [Seizes her. 

Manou. Let me go. 

Del. Your passport is a kiss. [He Jcisses her — she screams. 

Enter Pomponneau, r. with a whip in hand — he throws him round 
and strikes him with his hand. 

Pompon. Brute ! 

Del. I'll take blow from no man ! [Feeling for knife. 

Pompon. Take this into the bargain ! [Ijashes him. 

Del. Oh, oh! I'll — You have been indulging in a most expensive 
luxury. [Runs off. 

Pompon. Why 'tis Manou ! 

Manou. Oh, Pomponeau ! what should I have done if it hadn't been 
for you. I can but thank you. [Gives her hand. 

Enter Marcel, his hair on end, r. 

Marcel. Pomponneau ! I thought you ran to Mother Simons for more 
than eggs. 

Manou. [To him.] Fool! 

Marcel. [To Pomponneau.] Yillian ! 

Pompon. [Cooly.] Gnat! 

Manou. You stupid ! Hear me sir ! I have been attacked. 

Marcel. How dare you attack my wife % 

Manou. I've been rudely kissed. 

Marcel. How dare you kiss my wife rudely v 

Pompon. My good fellow, there is something the matter with 
your 

3Iarcel. I know it — I feel 'em growing 1 

Manou. I was attacked by a ruffian, from whom he saved me. 
Come along ! 

3Iarcel. No, madam — I'll never come along with you again ! 

Manou. Then stay where a^ou are ! 

3Iarcel. Adieu for ever ! [ Crosses. 

Pompon. Where are you going 1 

3Iarcel. Into my grave, and let me catch her weeping over it. 

JIanou. That you never will ! [Exit, l. 

Pompon. Ha, ha, ha ! Adieu fuswig. [Exit, l. 

Marcel. I don't think she would weep over my grave, and curse me 
if I'll try her ; and you, [After Pompoxeau.] if I was but a safe shot, 
would'nt I challenge you. Ah, he went the way she went — see turns 
down by yonder wall — he turns the same way — I can't see 'em. Oh, 
it's a lucky thing I have no family to look upon their agonized father. 

Bushes off, L. 



EUSTACUK BADEl^Jf. 8> 

SCENE III.— r/i(? Chateau of the Countess. The ground apartment 
looking onto the gardens, S;c. — Entrance in c. — Folding doors, r. — 
smaller door, l. Tables — one r. u. -e., with books and writing onateri^ 
als. Chairs — sofa, r.— a mirror. 

Mdlle Louise discovered looking upon a miniature in her hand. 

Mdlle. Louise. His portrait — his ! So proud, so noble, so like tluj 
Chevalier's, of whom I have read performing deeds of valor and of good 
to all. My mother sayjifciat she fears his love is beyond my state or 
hope: my grandma tells me different — says that I might grace th(3 
salons of the palace, and truel}' I think I might. [Looks in mirror, 
as Chevalier de Brissac enters l., and lightly places his hand iipon 
\er shoulder.] Oh, dear! [Turns and sees him.] Henri ! 

Bris. My dearest Louise! 

Mdlle. Louise. Oh, fie ! to enter thus — unannounced. 

Bris. I knew not sweetest, that you were here, and as for announce- 
ment, I really had not patience to seek for any. 

Madlle. Louise. But tell me, I pray you, all the news. Your sister 
is well, your father — and how is that dear Paris, that I so much love. 

Bris. As gay and frivolous as ever ; but I bring news that I hope 
will give you joy as it does me — unspeakable. I have informed my 
father of our attachment. 

Mdlle. Louise. Ah ! and he 

Bris. At first was angry, as all fathers according to paternal law 
are, at his son's presuming to love any lady of his own choosing. 

Mdlle. Louise. I feared this — and will he part us 1 

Bris. Listen. I showed him this — your miniature : that began to 
melt him, painted to him your gifts, accomplishments — told him that 
you were the granddaughter and heiress of the Countess D'Alberte — 
when what think you he said '? 

Mdlle. Louise. I am impatient to know. 

Bris. That he Avas journeying this way upon a court missive, and 
would judge for himself, and if he found what I represented to be true, 
his consent should be given. As it is quite certain that he will find it 
true, why Ave may consider all settled. 

Mdlle. Louise. Oh, Henri ! you make me weep with joy. 

Bris. Here is your mother, dearest, and the Countess. 

Enter Countess and Louise, r. 

Bris. Countess— Madame— I kiss your hands, and joy to meet 3-011. 

Coun. Welcome, Chevalier, to our poor home. 

Bris. Oh, say not so — rich I am sure in love, and in domestic peace. 
[Louise droops.] I admire your new residence much — so removed 
from the din of the busy blustering world, and all its pride, Avith dis- 
appointed hopes. Are you not of my opinion, madame 1 [To Louise 

Louise. Yes, indeed ! hopes are but the small threads by Avhich Ave 
are draAvn through this Aveary life, till one by one they break, leaving 
the mind and heart despairing. 

Coun. Daughter ! 

Mdlle. Louise. My dear mother, do not let, I praf , this constant 



40 EUSTACHE BAUDIH. 

melancholy oppress you — where young hearts too are hoping to bud 
and blow in joy. 

Bris. Aye, madame, and hope to flourish too. 

Court. I hear a carriage in the avenue. 

Louise. We expect no visitor. [Aside.] Heaven preserve us from 
intrusion here ! 

Enter Pomponneau, l. 

Pompon. I beg your pardon, Chevalier, but your father the Duke 
de Brissac. % 

Bris. My father — so soon. [Aside. 

Pompon. The duke is here ! 

Enter Duke de Brissac, l. d. 

Duke. Oh, here you are sir, all snugly ensconced in love's arbor, I find. 

[Ladies how. 

Bris. Your pardon, the Countess D'Alberte — Madame Louise, her 
daughter — Mademoiselle Louise. 

Duke. Your daughter, madame, I can see. [To Louise.] I do not 
know what portion of her worthy sire's features are interlined— her 
striking likeness to her mother, leaves little room for other resem- 
blance ; it may be she bears his carriage, for she has a proud deter- 
mined look and noble glance of eye, bespeaking him no common man. 
In the army ? 

Louise. [Timidly.] In his youth. 

Duke. Quitting that for the Court, perhaps, better suiting his de- 
votion to you. 

Louise. He was devoted. [ Weeps. 

Duke. I see — remembrance of departed worth, [Tb Countess. 

Mdlle Louise. Mother — dear mother. 

Coun. She will betray us. [Aside.] Monsieur le Duke, if you wiH 
accompany me to the salon 

Duke. With pleasure, I came for the purpose of some conversation 
with you, lady, as it does not become us to let love run riot, for beinoj 
blind, the urchin is apt to lose himself and require a guide; Countess, 
your hand. Madame. [Bows to Louise. 

Mdlle. Louise. My dear madame. 

Louise. Go, go — my child ! I will join you presently. 

[They exit "r., folding door. 

Louise. 'Tis too much ! there is now base deceit to be played upon 
this man, or my child is wretched. Oh, that I were there in that 
lowly grave with him at peace. I will have no hand in this. Oh, 
fool have I been, to yield to a mother's, prayers and rear my child in 
a base lie ! 

Enter George, l. 3 e. 

George. A gentleman, madame — Monsieur Poncelct. 

Louise. Ha ! Poncelet, my best, my only friend ! Admit hira. 
Lucky visit at such a time, for he may counsel me. 

Enter Poncelet, l. 
Monsieur, my best, my dearest friend — oh, how I joy to see you ! 



EDSTACHE BAUDIIT: 4l 

Pon. Lady 

Louise. No, no — call me, I pi ay y^u, as you did when I was your 
neighbor's wife. 

Pon. What still thus in remembrance 1 

Louise. To my grave, sir — till I lie there with him. 

Pon. I have heard, Louise — for I Avill call you as I did — whai proof 
have you of Eustache's death 1 

Louise. His dying words to the priest, and a certificate of his fu- 
neral. 

Pon. [Aside.] Strange ! The work of a cunning hand. 'Tis a foul 
and lying cheat upon your suffering weakness. 

Louise. Ha! 

Pon. He lies not in the grave upon which you daily pray. 

Louise. Oh, deceive me not, nor snatch from me the little hope I 
have. 

Pon. I would strengthen hope ; nay, change that hope to certainty. 
Your Eustache lives ! 

Louise. Lives ! Oh, where 1 

EuSTAcnE appearing, l. 

Eas. Here ! — l)e is before you ! Is here, Louise, to thank, to bless 
you for your constant faith ! 

Louise. Ah ! 

[She essays to speak, and reach him, hut falls — he runs to her. 

Pon. Imprudent ! 

Uus. I hold her once again — again do I press to mine this heart of 
truest tested faith — that through years of tempting affluence has not 
forgotten him whose only sin was love to her. [As she moves.] Louise! 

Louise. Eustache ! Yes, yes — he lives again for me ! The world ! 
oh, how have I been cheated — fooled — but you are here, and now we 
part no more. 

Uus. We must, alas ! for am not I a branded man '^ 

Louise. It is the brand of suffering, of persecution, and not of 
crime. We part no more ! 

Uus. We must — for who will now look upon or own me 1 

Louise. If so thou hast more need of my love. 

Fus. Our child 

Louise. Ha ! [Siairts. 

Enter Mdlle Louise, r. 

MdUe Louise. My dear mother, how feel you now 1 The duke has 
sent me to inquire if you have strength to join us 1 Sir — [Seeing and 
and curtseying to Poncelet, then observes Eustache.] What wants 
this man 1 I saw him from the window of the salon, and pitying hig 
wretchedness, was just seeking a messenger to take him some relief. 

[Aside in half-tone to Louise. 

Louise. You — you I 

Eus. [Approaching her.] Do not be alarmed at me my child. 

Mdlle Louise. [ With pride.] Your child 1 

Eui. Excuse me, young lady— I— a careless phrase will sometimes 



42 EDSTACnE BAUDIK. 

escape the lips, and though very humble, I had once a child much 
resembling you. 

Mdlle Louise. Resembling me indeed ! [ With pleasant derision. 

Ens. Not so beautiful, young lady, of course. 

Mdlle Louise. But still your child, and a father's child. 

Eus. Ah ! true — is all to him, and strange as it may appear though 
that child wore but a plain homely woolen petticoat it was a little 
princess in my eye, I loved it, I not only loved but worshipped it, and 
the little darling loved me too, and like a bird would com© to my 
chirp, leap to my knee — my neck — twine its fingers in my hair — 
but that is gone long since and she is [Faltering. 

Mdlle Louise. [Melted.] Where 1 

Eus. I have not seen her for many years, she'd not know her 
father now. 

3fdlle. Louise. Hard fate indeed, the child to forget her parent. 

Eus. [Quickly.] You have not then forgotten yours, lady 1 

Mdlle. Louise. My father died early, ere I could distinctly remem- 
ber, but I often weep in silence for him, and pray that he had lived. 

Eus. You do'? 

3{dll€. Louise. Yes, for my grandma, the Countess ever avoids all 
mention of him, while my mother seems to fear to name him, I used 
much to wonder why — but now 

Eus. You know the cause, 

Mdlle. Louise. Oh, no ! but I fear the marriage was unhappy. 

Eus Oh no, it was most happy ! [Forgetting. 

Mdlle^ Louise. You knew my father 1 

Louise. Ha ! [Aside. 

Eus. No, no, I dreamed you spoke of my own marraige, which was 
most happy till 

Mdlle. Louise. If happy, how came your daughter a stranger to youl 

Eus. I was borne away by the call of the State 

Mdlle. Louise. I see, the army — you arc now I hope seeking her 1 

Eus. Seeking her ! 

Mdlle. Louise. Do not be offended, here is a purse, 'tis of my own 
embroidery, and has some trifling contents — when you meet give her 
this, as a present from one who still more unfortunate than she can 
never know a father. 

Eus. Lady, I will take the precious gift and treasure it for her, my 
child's sake. She is of your age, and, as far as a poor man's offspring 
can resemble those of the rich, your beauty too— she may have your 
rirtues — your goodness — I trust your — oh ! pardon mc, I shall again 
begin to think I look upon my own. 

Pon. My friend 

Eus. Excuse me sir, but there are chords within the human heart 
never struck till we look upon our own. [Weejps — pause.] Lady — I 
thank — I bless, and will ever pray for you- [Takes purs:, 

Mdlle. Louise. Dear mother, I beg you to come with me, we shall 
have Henri seeking us. 

Louise. Go, I will come to you anon ! 

Mdlle. Lomse. Adieu, monsieur [To Poxcelet.] and you my good 



EU6TACHE BAUDIN. •• 

man, farewell, and when you see your daughter, think of me. 

[Exits, c. 

Louise. What is to be done 1 aid— council me ! the Duke de Bris- 
sac and his son are nere, she loves the Chevalier devotedly, he pro- 
poses for her hand— should the truth be known, her bridal will bo 
broken off, and she will be the sufferer. Yet, if it is your will, III 
go to them, all shall be known, and we will fly together. 

Hus. Stay ! Louise, our child can have no sudden second nature — 
to cast off high thoughts, love, habit, fortune, in an hour— to quit all 
these for me— it is too late ! Enough for us, that she may hereafter 
learn our hapless lot, and drop the tear upon our memory ! 

Fon. Hard fate but still the wisest. 

Louise. But 

Fus. No, Louise, I cannot consent to crush her hopes— to tear her 
from rank, and plunge her in penury and disgrace— 'twould only add 
to our load of misery. 

Louise. You must not go from hence, there is much to do. Enter 
I pray you, that room — 'tis mine. 

Eus. Remember you betray not yourself— keep our secret from 

Louise. ^ , , , , 

Louise. I will fulfil my duty, and obey you as I used, husband. 

Uus. Louise ! 

Louise. Enter Eustache. Go, go ! 
Exit Louise, Poncelet, and Eustache small door r., as Lambreti 
and Servant enter, l. 2 e. 

Lam. Say to the Co'untess a gentleman from Paris, whom she will 
recognize when she sees. [Servant hows and exit, n. n. 

Lam. Just in the nick of time to suit my purpose. This Duke de 
Brissac prides himself upon his escutcheon ; I'll show hmi the bar 
sinister in the Countess's, unless the old fool should make thmgs 
comfortable. 

Enter Servant and Countess, r. d. 

Servant. This is the gentleman. [Exit, l. 

Coun. Lamberti! 

Lam. Yes, dear annt, 

Coun. Audacious ! Depart, or I denounce you ! [About to ring. 

Lam. Stay, good gentle aunt. 

Coun. [Still about to ring.] Ingrate ! I have friends here. 

Lam. Call them— or shall I '? I can tell them the cheat you d play 
upon them. The proud Duke de Brissac will open wide his eyes to 
see the young lady's pedigree. 

Coun. You will not. , -r -i, , j ^v. 

Lam. If your first promise to me be not fulfilled, I will lead them 
to the grave of Eustache, the felon, and name the father of the bride 
with which you'd honor them. 

Coun. Has all my trust in thee but come to this 1 

Lam. Hear me. Here is a legal document prepared, making me 
heir to ftU the available property and land in your power to will— 



44 FCSTACHE BAUDIW. 

iign it, or I hasten to the salon and denounce you, Countess, as a 
cheat and an impostor ! 

Coun. Are you made of hate 1 

Lam. I am. Sign — come ! {Drags her to table, placing pen and 
papers hcfore her.] By hell you shall ! {Draws dagger. 

EuSTAcuE enters and rushes "between them, seizing his dagger. 

Eus. By heaven, she shall not! [Chord. 

Lam, {StaHs.] Eustache ! 

Coun. Ha ! He {Exit, b 

Lam. Felon ! 

Eus. Liar! 

Lam. Those papefs ! {Runs vp. 

Eus. Stretch forth hand or finger towards them, and your own 
weapon is your death 1 {Stands before him.] I am desperate, for in 
you do I behold my demon — by you, do I look through years of mis- 
ery and blighted hopes ! The blasts of winter have failed to cool my 
fevered brain — the spring sun has brought no warmth to my heart — 
summer given me nor fruit nor flowers ; and ripening autumn proved 
but desolation. All this has been your work — yours — and you shall 
now confess it, or Avith life I never quit you ! 

Jyam. Fool I madman ! That paper ! 

Eus. Never! {They struggle. 

Enter, Servants, Duke, Chevalier, Countess, Mademoiselle 
Louise, and Louise, r. 

Lam. Seize that assassin ! let him not escape. 

{He has secured the paper on which he began to write, having dashed 
the ink over the previous memoranda.] 

Louise. No, no ! 
[Eustache /oZc^s his arms with the dignity of conscious innocence. 
Duke. What means this ! explain sir. 

Lam. Yes, Duke — I was here in pity to you, and to your son. 
Duke. To me — my son 1 
Lam. To save you from a deeply planned imposture. 

Lam. Yes, that lady here.Louise, is the daughter of Eustache Bau- 
din, the condemned, who stands before you, and who but now upon 
my threat of exposure attempted my life. 

Duke. Eustache Baudin 1 the former courier to my friend the 
Minister de la Vigne. 

Eus. The same. 

Mdlle. Louise. Mother, mother, th's cannot be my father. 

Duke. You were condemned for theft and contumacy of Church 
and State. 

Eus. Yes. 

Louise. Oh, heaven! 

Mdlle. Louise. Mother, mother I \ Aside. 



ECaxACIlE BAUDIN. 4fi 

Duke. This is most strange. De la Vigne, convinced by every in- 
jniry of your innocence, never ceased to make his representation for 
A remission of your punishment ; you were released but a month since. 

Eus. I was 1 

Duke. And he anxiously looks for your appearance now in Paris, 
the edict against your Carriage is reversed — it is declared legal and 
valid, and the Court's former judgement an error obtained by false 
evidence, produced by perjury and malice. 

Louise. Oh, Duke ! can this be true 1 

Duke. I saw the document in his hand, signed by the archbishop 
and emperor. 

Eus. I gasp to fetch in power of breath or speech — my wife — my 
child ! Oil, this is too much happiness ! 

Enter Delbois, with Pastor, c. 

Lam. Delbois, summon the authorities to arrest my attempted as- 
sassin, there. 

Del. Here they are. [GENn'ARMEs/orm a^ 6rtc^•.] I am in their cus- 
tody myself. [Points to Pastor.] I have confessed all my sins to 
this gentleman, and have brought him here that jou may confess 
yours. 

/yam. Fool ! [ Going. 

Pastor. Stay, sir ! I do attach you upon this man's change and 
confession. Here, perform your duty. [Gend'armes surround him. 

Eus. Adieu, Monsieur ! Reserve your courage for the galleys. 

Duke. Countess, knowing your history before I arrived, I pardon 
the deception you would have practised. Behold here the effects of 
pride. I will not suffer mine to blight the happiness of the son I love, 

Eus. Madam, you have received the noblest rebuke, therefore I 
•vill not reproach you. 

Coun. You will not reproach me, sir. Will you forgive 1 

Eus. Yes, madam, forgiveness of injury is the noblest of hcaven'i 
attributes ; it is the triumph of the oppressed over the oppressor. 

Dramatic virtue now has played her part. 

Humbled the broud, [pointing to Countess,] made glad 

the weary heart. [Placing his hand on his own breast.] 
Rewarded constancy ; [taking his wife's hand ;] here 

good example shown ; [taking his daughters hand ;} 
Vice punished by an instrument of Vice's own. 
Still we are but involuntary agents all. 
And act and speak but at the poet's call. 
Not so with you, free to condemn or praise. 
To lengthen or make short our drama's days. 
Then, as you'r great, be merciful. Ask we in vain. 
Once more your grateful debtc rs to remain 1 
Let poor Eustache for all his troubles past, 
Find here a shelter and a home at last. 

THE END. 



SKND FOR A NEW DESCRIPTIVE CATALOGUE. 



{Catalogue continued from, second page of cover.) 



VOL. XLI. 

321 The pirates Legacy 

322 The Charcoal Burner 

323 Adelgitha 

824 Sen or Valiente 

825 Forest Rose 

826 Duke s Daughter 

327 Camilla's Husband 

328 Pure Gold 



VOL. XLII. 

329 Ticket of Leave Man 

330 Fool's Revenge 

331 O'Neilthe Great 

332 Handy Andy 

333 Pirate of the Isles 

334 Fanchon 

335 Little Barefoot 

336 Wild Irish Girl 



VOL. XLIII. 
337 Pearl of Savoy 
333 Dead Heart 
339 Ten Nights in a Bar-room 
840 Dumb Boy of Manchester 
341 Belphegor the Mountebank 
842 Cricket on the Hearth 
343 Printer's Devil 
Q44 Meg s Diversion 



as. 



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VOL. XLIV. 

345 Dmnkard'8 Doom 

346 Chimney Corner 

347 Fifteen Years of a Dnrnk- 

348 No Thoroughfare fard's 

349 Peep O' Day I Life 
3oO Kverybody's Priena 
Hamlet, in Three Act* 
Guttle & Gulpit 

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THE OLIO; or Speaker's Companion. A col- 
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THE ETHIOPIAN 

(NEW SERIES.) 



D RAMA 



wo. 

1 Blinks and Jinks 

2 Lucky Number 

9 Somebody' s Coat 

4 Trip to P aris 

5 Arrival of Dickens 

6 Black Ole Bull 

7 Blackest Tragedy of All 

HO. 

1 Robert Make- Airs 

2 Box and Cox 

3 Mazeppa 

4 United States Mail 

5 The Coopers 

6 Old Dad 8 Cabin 

7 The Rival Lovers 

8 The Sham Doctor 

9 Jolly Millers 

10 ViHiklns and his Dinah 

11 The Quack Doctor 

12 The Mystic Spell 

13 The Black Statue 

14 Uncle Jefif 

15 The Mischievous Nigger 
. 16 The Black Shoemaker 



8 Tom and Jerry, and Who's 

been Here 

9 No Tator, or Man Fish 

10 Who Stole the Chickens 

11 Upper Ten Thousand 

12 aip Van Winkle 



13 Ten Days m the Tombs 

14 Two Pompeys 

13 Running the Blockade 

16 Jeemes the Poet 

17 Intelligence Office 
13 Echo Band 



NO. 

19 Deserters 

20 Deaf as a Post 

21 Dead Alive 

22 Cousin Joe's "^bit 

23 Boarding School 

24 Academy of Stars 



17 The Magic Penny 

18 The Wreck | ny Cnpids 

19 Oh Hush! orTheVirgin- 

20 The Portrait Painter 

21 The Hop of Fashion 

22 Bone Squash 

23 The Virginia Mummy 
21 Thieves at the Mill 

2i Comedy of Errors 
2t LesMiserables 
27 New Yerir's Calls 
2i Troublesome Servant 
281 Great Arrival 

30 Rooms to Let 

31 Black Crook Burlesque 

32 Ticket Taker 



no. 

33 Hypochondriac 

34 William Tell 

35 Rose Dale 

36 Feast 

37 Fenian Spy 

38 Jack's the Lad 
89 Othello 

40 Camille 

41 Nobody's Son 

42 Sports on a Lark 

43 Actor Eld Singer 

44 Shylock 

45 Quarrelsome Servants 

46 Haunted Kouse 

47 No Cure, No7ay 



NO, 

48 Fighting for the Union 

49 Hamlet the Dainty 

50 Corsican Twins 

51 Deaf— in a Horn 

52 Challenge Dance 

53 De Trouble begins at Nin0 

54 Scenes at Gurney's 

55 16,000 Years Ago 

.56 Stage-struck Darkey 

57 Black Mail iClothee 

58 Highest Price for Old 

59 Howls from the Owl Train 

60 Old Hunks 

61 The Three Black Smiths 

62 Turkeys in Seasou 



Tony 



Denier's Parlor Pantomimes.— In Ten Parts, 25 Cts. each. 

No. v.— The Vivandiere ; or, The Daughter of the 

Regiment. Dame Trot and her Comical Cat; 

or, The Misfortunes of Johnny Greene. 
No. VI.— GODENSKI ; or, The Skaters of Wilnau. 

The E.vchanted Horn ; or. The Witches' Gift. 
No. VII.— The Soldier for Love ; or, A Hero in 

Spite of Himself. Simeon's Mishaps; or, The 

Hungarian Rendezvous. 
No. VIII.— The Village Ghost; or. Love and 

Murder both Found Out. The Fairies' Frolic; 

or. The Good Wife s Three Wishes. 
No. IX.— The Rose or Sharon ; or, The Unlucky 

Fisherman. Povgo, the Intelligent Ape, and 

the Unfortunate Overseer. 
No. X.— Mons. TouPET THE Dancing Barber ; 

or, Love and Lather. Vol au Vent and the 

Millers ; or, A Night's Adventures 



No. I.— A Memoir of the A>17thor. By Sylvester 
Bleeker, Esq. How to Express the Various 
Passions, Actions, etc. The Pour Lovers ; or, 
Les Rivales' Rendezvous. THE Frisky COBBLER ; 
or, The Rival Artisans. 

No. n.— The Rise and Proorhss of Pantc- mime. 
The Schoolmastkr ; or the School in an Uproar. 
Belle of Madrid; or, a Muleteer's Bride. La 
Statue Blanche ; cr. The Lovers' Stratagem. 

No. III.— M. DechalumeaiT ; or, The Birthday 
Fete. The Demon Lover ; or. The Frightened 
Family. Robert Macaire ; or, LesDeuxFugitifs. 

No. rv.— Jocko the Brazilian Ape; or, The 
MlschieToDs Monkey. The Conscript ; or. How to 
Avoid the Draft. Thf Magic Flute ; or. The Ma- 
Kloian's Speli. 



Samuel French, PubUsher, 

Anyoftheabovesentby Mail or Express, on receipt of price. 122 Xassau Street (Up SlAias). 



New and Explicit Pesckii'Tivk Catalooue Mailed Free on Reoukst. 



If ew Play«.~Pl*ylng ^t** Fire-Fhw tn the Web-Glin G*th-Uo«» He Lot« Me ! 



FRENCH'S MINOR DRAMA. 

Price 16 Cents each.— Botind Voltunes $1. 26. 



VOL, I. 
1 The Iriih Attorney 
a Boot* at the Sw*n 
8 Bow to p»y the Ben* 
i The' Loan of a Lorer 
6 Tb* Dead Shot 
6 BU Last Legs 
T The Invf «lble Prince 

8 The Ooldeu Farmer 

VOL. II. 

9 Pride of the Market 

10 Used Up 

11 The Irish Tutor 

12 The Barrack Room 

15 Luke the Laborer 
li Beauty aud the Beast 

16 St. Patrick' 8 Ere 

16 Ctptain of the Watch 

VOL. III. 

17 The Secret [pers 

18 White Horse of the Pep- 

19 The Jacohiie 

20 The Bottle 

21 Box and Cox 

22 Bamboozling 
as Widow's Victim 
3i Bohert Macaire 

VOL, IV. 
35 Secret Serrio* 
i% Omnibus 

27 Irish Lion 

28 liald of Croiss/ 

29 The Old Guard 

80 Raising the Wind 

81 Slasher and Crasher 
Sa Naral KngagemeaU 

VO:.. V. 
83 Oooknies in California 
Si Who Speaks First 

35 Bomoastes Pnrioso 

36 Uacbetb Travestie 
S7 Irish Ambassador 

88 Delicate Ground 

89 The Weathercock [Gold 

40 AU that Glitters is Not 

VOL. VI. 

41 Grimshaw, Bagshaw and 

Bradshaw 
ia Bough Diamond 
48 filoomer Costume 

44 Two Bonnyoastles 

45 Born to Good Luck 



VOL. I. 
71 Ireland and America 

74 Pretty Piece of Business 

75 Irish Broom-maker 

76 To Parla and Back for 
Five Pounds 

77 That Blessed Baby 

78 Our Gal 

79 Swiss Cottage 

80 Young Widow 
VOL. XI. 

81 O'Flannigan and the Fa. 

82 Irish Post [rir 

83 My Neighbor's Wife 

84 Irish Tiger 

85 P . P . , or Man and Tiger 

86 To Oblige Benson 

87 State Secrets • 

88 Irish Yankee 
VOL. XII. 

89 A Good Fellow 

90 Cherry and Fair Stsi 

91 Gale Breezely 

92 Our Jemimy 

93 Miller ,j Maid 

94 Awkward Arrival 

95 Crossing the Line 

96 Conjugal Lesson 

VOL. XIII. 

97 My Wife's Mirror 

98 Life in New York 

99 Middy Ashore 

100 Crown Prince 

101 Two Queens 
102,Thumping Legacy 
lOS'.Unfinished GentlemaB 

104 House Dog 
VOL. XIV. 

105 The Demon Lover 

106 Matrimony 

107 In and Out of Place 

108 I Dine with My Mother 

109 Hiawatha 

110 Andy Blake 
lU Love in "76 [ties 
112 Bomance under Dlfficol' 

VOL. XV. 
US One Coat for 2 Suits 

114 A Decided Case 

115 Daughter [nority 

116 No ; or, the Glorious Mi- 
Ill7 Coroner's Inquisition 



VOL. XIX. 

145 Columbus 

146 Harlequin Bluebeard 

147 Ladies at Home 

148 Phenomenon in a Smook 



VOL. XXVIIl. 
117 Crinoline 

218 A Family Failing 

219 Adopted Child 
SSO Turned Heads 



221 ^i Match in the Dark 

222 Advice to Husbuidr 

223 Siamese Twins 

224 Sent to the Tower 
VOL. XXIX 

225 Somebody Else 

226 Ladles' Battle 
i2'27 Art (if Acting 



Frock 

149 Comedy and Tragedy 

150 Opposite Neighbors 

151 Dutchman's Ghost 
162 f ersecuted Dutchman 

VOL. XX, 

153 Mnsard Ball 

154 Great Tragic Revival 
liD High Low Jack & Gamei 

156 A Gentleman from Ire- 

157 Tom and Jerry [land' 

158 Village Lawyer 

1J9 Captain's not A-mlss •■*'}'*'. „ 

180 Amateurs and Actors |23a Fighting by Proxy 

VOL. XXI. i VOL. XXX. 

161 Promotion [ual 2!^' ^'~ -• — ■ ~i - 

162 A Fascinating Individ-,-'' 

163 Mrs. Caudle ■ * 

164 Shokspeare's Dream 'i- ",'"'" 

165 Nep.uue' 8 Defeat 231 -My Son Diana i»ion 

166 Lady of Bedchamber 238 Unwarrantable In tro- 

167 Take Care of Littli 233 Mr. and Mrs. White 

168 Irish Widow I Charley (240 A Quiet FamUy 



the LloBS 
'Man 
s Ghost 
lay at that 



46 Kiss In the Dark [Jurer 

47 'T would Pnzzl'' > Con- 

48 Kill or Cnre 

VOL. VII. 

49 Box and Cox Married and 

60 St. Cupid 

61 Go-to-bed Tom 

62 The Lawyers 
6 3 Jack Sheppard 
64 The Toodles 
66 The Mobcap 
66 Ladies Beware 

VOL. VIII. 
67MoriiiugCall 
58 Popping the Question 
69 Dear as a Post 

60 New Footman 

61 Pleasant Neighbor 

62 Paddy the Piper 

63 Brian O' Linn 

64 Irish Assurance 

VOL. IX. 

65 Temptation 

66 Paddy Carey 

67 Two Gregories 

68 King Charming 

69 Pocahontas 
70Clookmaker'8Hat 
Tl Married Rake 

72 Love and Msrder 

VOL. XXXVII. 
SM All the WorW« a SUge 
190 Qawh. or Nigier PraetlM 
Ml Torn Him Out 
39S Prett J Girli of 8tillb«rf 
S9S Angelof the Attie 
t94 CirrunuttDceiklterCuM 
t96 K»ity O'Sheal 
196 A Supper in Dili* 



118 Love in Humble Life 

119 Family Jars 
130 Personation 

VOL. XVL 
121 Children in the Wood 
I Settled 122 Winning a Husband 

123 Day after the Fair 

124 Make Your WiUs 
126 Rendezvous 

126 My Wife 8 Husband 

127 Monsieur Tonson 

128 Illustrious Stranger 
VOL. XVII 



VOL. XXII. 

169 Yankee Peddlar 

170 Hiram Hireont 

171 Double-Bedded Room 

172 The Drama Defended 

173 Vermont Wool Dealer 

174 Ebenezer Venture [ter 

175 Principles from Charac- 

176 Lady of the Lake (Trar) 
VOL. XXIII. 

177 Med Dogs 

178 Barney the Baron 

179 Swiss Swains 

180 Bachelor's Bedroom 

181 A Roland for an Oliver 
132 More Blunder* than One 

183 Dumb Belle 

184 Limerick Boy 
VOL. XXIV. 

185 Nature and Philosophy 

186 Teddy the Tiler 

187 Spectre Bridgroom 
183 Matteo Falcone 

189 Jenay Llnd 

190 Two Buzzarda 

191 Happy Man 
132 Betsy Baker 

VOL. XXV. 
19S No. 1 Round the Corner 

194 Teddy Roe 

195 Object of Interest 

196 My Fellow Clerk 

197 Bengal Tiger 
193 Laughing Hyena 

199 The Victor Vanquished 

200 Our Wife 

VOL. XXVI. 

201 My Hufband'e Mirror 



129 Mischief-Making [Minesi202 Yankee Land. 



130 A Live Woman in the 

131 The Corsair 

132 Shylock 

133 Spoiled Child 

134 Evil Eye 

135 Nothing to Nurse 

136 Wanted a widow 

VOL. XVIIL 

137 Lottery Ticket 
188 Fortune's Frolic 

1139 Is he Jealous r 
140 Married ±sachelor 
141 Husliand at Sight 
142 irishman in London 
143 Animal MagneUsm 
144 Highways and By-Waj's 
I VOL. XXXVIII. 

397 lei on Parle Frincaii 
298 Who KiDed Cock RoMb 
399 DeclaTBlioD of iDdepeadraM 
SCO Headi er Taili 
SOI ObatinateFuoaily 
tOJUjAoDt 
SOI That Baaeal Pal 
1304 Poo Padd; de Baxu 



203 Norah Creina 

204 Good for Nothing 

205 The First Night 

206 The Eton Boy 

207 Wandering Minstrel 

208 Wanted, 1000 Milliners 
VOL. XXVII. 

30S< Poor Pilcoddy 

210 The Mummy i Glasses 



VOL. XXXI. 

241 Cool as Cncnmber 

242 Sudden Thoughts 
243JumV- '•— 
244 A Bi: 
245Litt. 
246AL.n PaM 

247 Maid witn tn« jsiUklng 

248 Perplexing Predici^aent 
VOL. XXXII. 

249 Dr. Dilworth 

250 Out to Nurse 

251 A Lucky Hit 

252 The Dowager 

253 Metamora (Burlesque) 

254 Dreams of Delualoa 

255 The Shak er Leven 

256 Ticklish Times 
VOL. XXXIII. 

257 JO Minutes with a Tiger 
258Mlralda: or, the Juatio* 

' of Tacon 

259 A Soldier's Courtship 

260 Servants by Legacy 

261 Dying for Love 

262 Alarming Sacrifice 

263 Valet de Sham 

264 Nicholas Niokleby 
VOL. XXXIV. 

265 The Last of the Piglalli 

266 King Rene'd Daughter 

267 The Grotto Nymph 

268 A DeviUsh Good Joke 

269 A Twice Told Tale 

270 Pasde Fascination 

271 Revolutionary Soldier 

272 A Man Without a Head 
VOL. XXXV. 

273 The Olio, Parti 

274 The Olio, Par. i 

275 The Olio, Part J (v«i 

276 The Trumpeter" s i)»v.gn- 

277 Seeing Warren 
27!^ Green Mountain Boy 

279 That Nose 

280 Tom Noddy's Secret 
VOL. XXXVI- 

Shrckiiig' Bventt 



. 



211 Don'tForgetyour Opera 282 ^^ft;;';;,^* 

212 Love in Livery |283 Sli* *;^^ ' ' , 
21S Anthony and Cleopatra 284 Young b. .rn. 
214 Trrine It On. *» Young ACireno 



VOL. XXIX. [ture 
305 Too Much for Good Na- 
H06 Cure for the Fidgets 

307 Jack's the Lad 

308 Much A do about Nothing 

309 Artful Dodger 

310 Winning; Hazard 

311 Day's liihing [*<•• 
812 Did yon ever send your, 



)388 Two B' hoye 

VUL. XXX. 

313 An Irishman's Maneuvet 

314 Cousin Fannie 
315 'T:-.:': " •■ -IITpurbe- 
31()M - - Dawo 

317 (■' '. -^n 

318 G" : ' _ . !. t 
Siy Mau Willi (h»- Carpet Bag 
320 Terrible Tinker j 



SAMUEL FEENCH * SON, 12* Nassao Stbkbt, Nkw York. 



LIbKAHY ur ouiNont^oo v 







014 456 116 8 # 



